When We Were Soldiers
by Yin
Summary: Rebuilding is tough after spending a lifetime in someone's else war. That conflict may now be over, but a mismatched group of former soldiers will soon learn their fighting days are not. {Grimmons, other pairings mentioned in fic.} ["The opposite of war is..." Sci-Fi AU Series]
1. Chapter 1

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter One:

The storage area of the huge facility dedicated to salvaging and repurposing in Chorus was very much akin to any of the numerous large warehouses that Richard "Dick" Simmons had visited frequently over the years. It was cavernous and sterile, built for the sole purpose of containment and storage and nothing else.

The redhead also knew from firsthand experience that warehouses like this had ample hiding spaces, either for when you were planning ambushes on enemy combatants or trying not to let your commanding officer or teammates know that you were in the midst of yet another panic attack.

Or just when a particularly lazy comrade somehow managed to convince you to shirk off your duties for a while because _"Come on, Simmons! You know as well as I do there isn't really a fucking point to any of this anymore."_

Considering the war that had gone on for who the fuck knew how long beforehand, such buildings were a staple and necessity due to the need for quite a bit of space to store untold amounts of equipment.

In this particular warehouse here were vehicles and weaponry all in various states of repair out in the open or sealed up in containers, along with a myriad assortment of other pieces of tech that needed to be categorized and sorted through. Most of the items had likely already been and were now just waiting for the proper assignment so that they could be shipped to other areas of the city.

A person could lose themselves completely in the sheer amount of work that needed to be done in a warehouse for _hours_ on end, or possibly even days. Even in that case, they would probably not even come close to making a dent in terms of what was stored here. Especially not with even more supplies and scrap materials coming in on a constant, daily basis as they were.

It was a lesson in futility time and time again whenever one stepped foot in places like this, Simmons had found.

How often in the past when assigned to warehouse duties had Simmons not been somewhat grateful for a chance to get away from people trying to kill him, or pour himself into endless repetitive tasks to keep his constant nerves at bay? Yet how often had he also dreaded the monotony, along with the screen display that showcased the sheer amount of objects contained within the space?

The numbers and stats constantly scrolling across a data screen just reinforced how impersonal the combat situation they had been living in day in and day out had really been.

When he thought back to that now, even though it had only been a few years since, it was an oddly distant memory. It was a nostalgic ping, yes, but a completely foreign feeling to what emotions flowed through him when he presently stepped into the warehouse here at Chorus.

The concept behind the building and its structure were the same. No doubt this warehouse had been built for that very wartime purpose all of the others he had walked into beforehand had been, but its _"feel"_ and what it represented to him couldn't have been more different.

It was the first step in the process of rebuilding a city, not storing things for a later use of killing or maiming.

Given that thought, the cyborg didn't actually hate being here at all.

Though given his recent lack of sleep and the sheer amount of new containers in the space right now as if to mock him, he _did_ regret opting out of a second cup of coffee earlier.

"Isn't this _amazing_ , Simmons?" His perpetually peppy younger teammate, Franklin Delano Donut, was beaming up at the crates that Simmons was openly gaping at as if completely oblivious to his friend's predicament.

Sometimes Simmons was more than just a little afraid of Donut's cheeriness. At other times he found himself annoyed by its constant presence. Still, there were other times he found himself simply craving whatever the fuck it was that the dirty blond was on to keep his mindset that way.

This was one of those instances in which Simmons couldn't tell which one of those emotional responses would work best.

He _really_ wished he'd had that second cup of coffee when Donut had offered it to him before.

Or a third one.

Or a fourth.

 _Fuck it_. He probably should have rolled up a sleeve of his maroon-colored shirt and just gotten an IV drip of the life-giving stuff from Doctor Grey.

He imagined she'd be curious enough to see what the possible side effects of such an act would be and would actually agree to the experiment, if only to then follow him around to take down research notes.

Which would probably also help to keep the redhead on his toes, now that he thought about it.

"The last salvage haul had been a great one!" His friend was still talking in the midst of Simmons' caffeine-filled fantasies, "It's a shame I couldn't help look too, but it seems like our boys really explored every hole they could find."

"En serio, yo ni siquiera tengo que apagar anoche y sigo pensando que es demasiado pronto para eso." _{"Seriously, I didn't even need to power down last night and I still think it is too early for that."}_

Sarge's robotic creation, Lopez, spoke up a few seconds later. He had followed the other two into the warehouse proper out of sheer boredom. Or perhaps to escape from being alone with Sarge and Doctor Grey for too long. It was hard to say with him since he didn't speak a language anyone of them save Sheila or possibly Donut understood.

"I agree, Lopez. It _is_ impressive!" Donut nodded his head to whatever it was he had thought the brown-armored robot had said.

It was always pretty debatable if the dirty blond ever did get it right, however, since normally there was a mechanical-sounding sigh whenever he translated.

"Lo que sea. Voy a ir y hacer mi propia cosa que debería haber hecho en vez de hablar." _{"Whatever. I will go and do my own thing like I should have done instead of speaking."}_

The robot glanced from the two of them back to the containers as if debating something before speaking up again.

"Sólo llámame más cuando se necesita algo pesado movido y no sólo para mostrar sintonizar cantar a coro, como la última vez." _{"Just call me over when you need something heavy moved and not just for show tune sing-alongs like last time."}_

"Which songs do _you_ think we should sing while we work today, Lopez?" Donut asked him, a thoughtful look crossing over his features.

"Olvídalo. Voy a apagar mi sistema auditivo." _{"Never mind. I am going to turn off my hearing system."}_

With that, Lopez walked off to the workbench where he had been upgrading communication devices the other day. From the assortment of new mechanical components and trinkets resting in assorted piles all over its surface, it looked as if even more equipment had come in for him to prep as well.

Donut was still humming happily to himself, thrilled at their large haul. After all, any and all potentially usable equipment was constantly in high demand to help keep the place functioning.

Still, while Simmons could certainly understand his friend's happiness, he couldn't help but show a bit more concern over the larger-than-average payload himself.

"It really is great, Donut," he managed to speak up his concerns finally once Donut had reached the last note of the song that was playing only in his mind, "But don't you think getting large caches like this could cause Chorus to catch even more attention from black markets and private weapons dealers?"

Let alone possibly neighboring territories who might not feel they had been as fortunate with their acquisition efforts recently.

Perhaps Simmons' fears in this instance were rather unfounded. It wasn't as if they usually got shitloads of material all the time, even if the stream of acquired equipment from the scavenger and survey runs was usually rather steady.

Regardless, what he had mentioned was definitely a bit of a concern.

The war itself might have been over a few years now, but no one was completely free from danger. The all too real threat of bandits and other less-than-savory criminal elements was always constantly looming overhead, on top of the potential political machinations of neighboring regions.

It was pretty much why so many of the regions kept to themselves now. Most only extended base diplomacy and trades when it was absolutely vital and necessary for their own continued existence.

The world was still very much trying to focus on simply rebuilding and trying to survive the new times it found itself in, along with the people residing in it.

Even Chorus, with its rather radical " _open door to those who come in peace_ " policy, had done so solely because they wouldn't have survived otherwise. The policy had simply turned out to be a very smart move for continued growth in the long run. Given that, it was no wonder that neighboring areas had also started to evidently adapt similar policies to varying degrees of success as well.

"Well." Donut put a finger to his lips to ponder Simmons' question, the thoughtful look crossing over his features once more surprisingly serious. Then again, Donut was more aware than most people gave him credit for. Simmons had seen that firsthand over the years that they had worked together, "I can see your point, Simmons. But we have to try to look at things positively whenever we can!"

It was a classic Donut response and while Simmons still felt a bit uneasy, he couldn't help it when the lightish-red wearing male's enthusiasm rubbed off on him a little bit.

Though that particular mental description did have him inwardly blanching and thinking that maybe he had been spending _too_ much time interacting with said teammate recently.

"Donut's right, Simmons," Sarge's voice spoke up from behind the two as the door leading from the warehouse to the actual research, workshop, and secondary clinic area for Chorus slid open, "In situations like these, it is best to look on the bright side."

"But!"

The older man's red armor made his entrance even more noticeable. Even though none of the others beyond Lopez and Sheila due to their designs usually wore their armor outside of fieldwork anymore, the habit was one that Sarge could just not break. Simmons was halfway convinced he'd had it molded to his body years ago given how rare it was to ever see him completely outside of it.

Sarge removed his armored hand from its interlacing grip with Doctor Grey's, which everyone pointedly avoided mentioning since it wasn't entirely clear just _what_ was going on there. Neither had yet to make it official through announcement to anyone else, at least.

Moving forward, Sarge patted Simmons' shoulder briefly in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. Thankfully, he looked away just before Simmons lost his battle to keep himself from tearing up.

"More equipment means better defenses, and enough firepower to blast our enemies to smithereens should they be foolish enough to even _try_ and pull something!" There was a manic gleam in the older soldier's brown eyes at that particular prospect, "That would lickety-spilt get the message out that Chorus isn't a place to mess with!"

"Excessive force is sometimes the best deterrent." Doctor Emily Grey chirped in happily, "It's why I proposed electrocuting the refrigerator doors should someone leave them open for longer than thirty seconds. Might seem extreme at first, but once people figure it out? Just think about all of the energy we'd save!"

Sarge chuckled, "I would just get a kick out of seeing Grif flailing around on the floor for a little while, so a double-win for me!"

Somehow, Simmons had the feeling Doyle would probably _never_ agree to that proposal.

Which was probably a good thing given that, as Sarge had said, he couldn't imagine Grif _actually_ letting a little thing like the potential for electrically-induced seizures keep him from leaving the fridge door open in order to remove most of the device's contents for a late night snack. Or a third breakfast.

Grif _was_ stupidly motivated when it came to food.

Grey glanced over at Simmons then with an oddly contemplative look on her face, evidently noticing the dark ring that was under his one remaining human eye.

The dark-haired woman was around the age of most of his teammates save for Sarge, who most people had simply stopped trying to guess the age of given that his obvious deflection of _"twenty-nine"_ whenever he was asked wasn't remotely true unless he'd aged horribly. So, it wasn't really terribly surprising that Doctor Grey's eccentric personality had caused her to quickly ingratiate herself into their group dynamics when they had all first come to Chorus to live following the fighting.

But, no matter how used to her Simmons became given that, her insightfulness when it came to health matters never ceased to unnerve him despite knowing how capable she actually was in the medical field.

"Didn't get much sleep last night, Simmons?" Grey asked, her tone conversational but with a sudden sharp and assessing look lighting up her gaze.

Sarge picked up on the new vein of conversation as well, and the sudden look sent to the patch of smooth metal over one side of his face and what was visible of his synthetic arm wasn't lost on Simmons. The redhead shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny and tried in vain to pull his shirt sleeve down over it more, though all that ended up doing was expose more of the continuing metal right up to his collarbone.

He knew why they were concerned, given that they had been trying to help make adjustments and continued improvements to his cybernetics in order to get them to be more comfortable overall. But, Simmons still couldn't help but be self-conscious over the whole thing. Particularly when it was brought up in front of others.

Grey and Sarge were going out of their way to help him, no matter how much they tried spinning it as some ongoing science project. It was because of moments like this, when they showed genuine concern that wasn't brought on by him saying something to start with, that sort of canceled the whole _"This is for science! Mu-ha-ha."_ tale they kept spinning.

Kind of, at any rate. He couldn't help but picture both of them doing maniacal laughter either way.

"Oh! Er…"

Actually, though, this time for once his lack of sleep wasn't a direct result of his cybernetic body parts causing him discomfort. They honestly hadn't been doing that nearly as much since the last batch of upgrades, save perhaps in the rare cases they had of extreme weather.

Donut was quick to confirm that too, much to his inner relief since Simmons found it difficult to articulate under the duo's combined scrutiny. The cyborg suspected that if he had just told them himself, they would have assumed he was simply trying to cover it up like he had done a few times before in the past when he didn't think one of his "episodes" was too major.

"Oh, it wasn't because he was feeling sick or anything!" Donut remarked, "The big old silly just _had_ to stay late last night because he's a perfectionist and one of the generator repairs hadn't reached optimal levels yet."

Simmons shot his younger friend a thankful look for the comment.

Sarge frowned, "You _do_ know the generator has about five backups all in perfect order, don't you, Simmons? That repair could have easily been spaced out longer. No need to lose sleep over it."

"Um…" Simmons' face heated up, and he quickly turned his face away.

The redhead was _not_ about to let anyone know the real reason for why he had decided that repair had suddenly jumped to the top of his inner utmost importance list.

 _Nope. No fucking way!_

Just as he thought Grey in particular might make a remark about his sudden bout of extreme bashfulness, a new voice cut into the fray.

"You know the nerd's a stressed out workaholic. He gives himself a shitload of unnecessary stuff to do all the time." Epsilon, who often preferred going by Leonard Church amongst friends or out in public just to avoid troubling questions, said as he joined their gathering.

Simmons shot the dark-haired man a glare even though his commentary _was_ technically more truthful than he'd care to admit. His glare only intensified a hundredfold at the sight of the steaming, extra-large mug of coffee the goateed man was currently chugging down.

 _Lifeblood stealing jackass!_

Church shot him a taunting smirk when he noticed what Simmons was staring at so enviously before he continued, "Besides, it's probably a good thing he actually fixed the fucking thing last night in hindsight." His gaze flickered to the large shipment currently before them, "With this much shit to sort through, that repair could have been pushed back awhile."

"Even with the multiple backup generators, Kimball wouldn't have liked that much of a delay." Sarge conceded, nodding his head in understanding. He shot Simmons a grateful look then, "Good initiative and foresight there, Simmons!"

The cyborg blushed at the praise, and couldn't help but fall back into old habits as he saluted, "Th—thank you, sir!"

"All right then, let's see what we've got here!" The older man looked at the crates appreciatively, "Hopefully a lot of this stuff will have some mighty hefty firepower to it!"

Simmons looked over at Church then, who grinned and mouthed _"You owe me, nerd!"_ at him.

The redhead sighed, figuring that probably meant his workload would double for another day at least.

Doctor Grey still seemed slightly unconvinced, largely because she was observant as all get-out and had silently witnessed the exchange between Church and Simmons so she knew there was most likely _something_ else going on. Thankfully, the dark-skinned woman decided not to make a large issue over it either.

"I have to discuss some clinic matters later today with Doyle and Bones," she informed Simmons instead, "But it might not be a bad idea for you to come by for a follow-up afterwards. Even if you're feeling great at the moment, it's been a few weeks since your last adjustment. Going through a routine physical will help keep you feeling better too."

It was a rather logical assessment to make, and the cyborg knew he tended to avoid checkups more often than he should anyways. Even if Doctor Grey unnerved him at times with her mannerisms and odd sayings, she _was_ the best when it came to medicine and cybernetics in Chorus.

Simmons nodded his head in quiet agreement, knowing regardless that no matter what he did to try to postpone things he would be hounded until he relented anyways.

"At least you don't cry all through your appointments like Church does!" Doctor Grey said with a friendly wink, obviously as a response to the earlier teasing she had witnessed.

"Hey! That was only the _one fucking time_ , and it was only because a certain psycho doctor lady decided to see what would happen if they cranked my neural implant receptors up to a million or some other crazy ass number before testing reflexes!" Church shouted back.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Epsilon had neural implants in his brain when one wasn't paying attention to the odd bumps in his hairline close by his ears. At least given how that type of cybernetics was less visible than the metal plating Simmons had covering parts of his body or his red-tinted eye.

"It was all for a good cause!" Doctor Grey smiled with the force of a thousand suns, "We managed to adjust them _just_ right because of that."

Church mumbled under his breath about how he wasn't sure it had been worth it given the blackmail photos Tucker had taken, or the _"get well"_ hugs forced on him by Caboose following it. Still, his attention was now diverted away from Simmons as a result of the change in conversation, as was Doctor Grey's.

So, it was a win-win in the cyborg's book. Simmons figured now might be a good time to slip away and grab a mug of wonderful, life-affirming coffee himself.

Unfortunately for his ever-growing desire for caffeine today, the door to the warehouse opened again and a tiny blur of teal came racing in.

The small, dark-skinned boy with almost fluorescent blue lines threading all over his body had raced past everyone else to latch onto Lopez tightly with a voiceless exclamation of glee.

"Oh grandioso. No me gusta tratar con niños en la parte superior de ustedes. ¿Esto significa que puedo tomar un descanso del trabajo si está aquí?" _{"Oh great. I hate dealing with kids on top of you guys. Does this mean I can take a break from working if he's here?"}_

Lopez muttered something in electronic Spanish, looking almost hopefully at the group before awkwardly patting Junior on the head.

As he was clutching the brown-armored robot, it was easy to see that the blue lines on the child's skin resembled veins but were much more uniform. They even matched up to another line on the other half of his body perfectly, providing a very symmetrical appearance.

"Oh, hey, Junior!" Donut exclaimed at the child's presence, stopping the work he himself had really barely started, to move over to the child and bend down to his eye level, "What brings you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Church spoke up as the small boy with intense blue eyes that nearly matched in coloring the lines on his skin glanced over at the younger soldier but didn't attempt communicating anything more than a tiny smile to him, "Kid got smart and ran from Tucker the first chance he got."

"Él viene aquí para pasar el rato con nosotros en vez probablemente refutar eso." _{"Him coming here to hang out with us instead would probably disprove that."}_

"Up yours, Church!" Lavernius Tucker's voice came from behind them about two seconds later as he joined everyone, his middle finger quite prominently extended as he regarded the other man, "You're just jealous that I have a kick-ass son and you don't."

Simmons couldn't help but shake his head slightly at the exchange. Mocking and teasing definitely seemed to be the preferred means of communication amongst members of their group.

Church had probably even known Tucker was close by when Junior had run in, if the odd smirk crossing over his face as he returned the gesture almost like it was a very messed-up greeting was any indication.

Truthfully, it was a wonder more of their outings in the past hadn't resulted in split lips or nights spent in jail.

Donut looked eagerly over at Tucker from where he was still bent over giving the child in their midst a high-five, asking him hopefully: "Oh, oh! Does this mean we're up for babysitting duty then?"

It was a pretty good guess. When school wasn't in session for the few children currently residing in Chorus, Tucker would often require help from his teammates to keep an eye on Junior.

Unfortunately, Junior's inability to speak and the obvious signs of his heritage as a genetically engineered being made things very uncomfortable for him in peer situations. The few times that Tucker had tried taking Junior to outings that weren't as directly involved with their group had pretty much always resulted in tears, and his son would end up having such severe anxiety issues following them that he couldn't even eat for days afterwards.

Children could be immensely cruel to anyone in their midst they could peg as "different" right away. That was even more prevalent when they had parents or family members around who still held onto annoying prejudices against humans created through artificial means despite how Chorus in general was trying to stamp that out.

However, even with the fact that Vanessa Kimball herself made no effort to hide her lineage either, it was going to be a long and difficult process to fully do. Especially with more refugees coming in to Chorus all the time from areas that weren't as open-minded in the first place.

Still, the situation did showcase that for all of their _many_ flaws and quirks, the odd little familial group had become a strong support system when it came to helping Tucker in raising the boy.

Perhaps some of that was due to the earlier forced necessity of the whole situation during wartime as Tucker had managed to escape from forced captivity as an unwilling test subject with a baby in tow, and had nowhere else to go.

Considering how way-too-young Kaikaina had been when Grif joined and she had still been with them back then too, no one wanted to abandon a baby to an even worse fate than simply growing up amongst an extremely dysfunctional military unit. There was nothing else to do for it, really. But now there was certainly a strong level of affection rooted in the matter that was always pretty prevalent to everyone involved.

However, the dark-skinned man often took his son with him to most places. The only times when Tucker really _needed_ their help with watching Junior were when he desperately needed some free time, or when he was about to go on a scouting mission of some kind.

Considering the time of day, that probably meant it was…

"Yeah, thanks again for always being willing to help." Tucker broke through Simmons' thoughts with a nod in response to Donut's earlier question.

Sarge scoffed, "Nothing to thank us for. You know he's always welcome here." He shot Tucker an assessing look, apparently on the same page as Simmons' earlier thoughts, "Though I take it with how the two of you just barged in, this isn't an outing that was planned?"

He looked slightly eager himself just then, and Simmons could take a rather large guess as to why. Sarge was always a little more gleeful when it came to the idea of potentially volatile situations happening anywhere around his vicinity. If only because it increased the likelihood that the older soldier would be able to shoot at something later, even if he wasn't involved in the initial outings.

"Something like that." Tucker told him, though he hastily added at the sight of the manic glee suddenly crossing over Sarge's face at the prospect, "Though it isn't really anything dangerous. No marauders or any of that shit."

Yes, from Tucker's tone it was pretty obvious that they were all well aware of Sarge's _"boner for murder"_ by this point.

"A mapmaking group just came across a new cache site that hadn't been opened up yet close by." Tucker elaborated further, shrugging disinterestedly, "You know how those runs tend to go."

"Pretty dang boring!" Sarge acquiesced, his shoulders slumping slightly as Grey gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, "Oh, well. I suppose you can't win them all." He sighed, "There's always another day!"

"Well, I guess I'm not really feeling too disappointed that I probably won't be getting shot at today." Tucker commented dryly.

"It's more about how alive you feel shooting back, son." Sarge looked at him with a great deal of sympathy for not having understood why he should be a bit more upset at an uneventful retrieval mission, "You'll figure that out some day though!"

"You give the _weirdest_ afterschool specials, Sarge." The dark-skinned man could not hide the amusement that was forming in his eyes.

"Wait until you hear him give _the talk_." Church remarked with a very visible shudder, "I _still_ have fucking nightmares."

"That was the one with the drawings, correct?" A feminine voice spoke up just then in a slightly robotic tone, "I thought the visual aids made the whole thing even more informative."

Apparently most of their uncourteous friends never really thought about the need to knock before entering a room.

"Definitely a very creative way to get the point across." Another cheerful newcomer to the conversation chimed in, this time male, "He even let me borrow his talking points once."

Simmons glanced towards the warehouse door as both Sheila and Frank "Doc" DuFresne entered into the gathering. He had honestly forgotten that they were going to be stopping by as well given everything that had been going on recently.

At the same time, the redhead couldn't help but notice that Doctor Grey looked at Sarge with a newfound sense of appreciation at this recent tidbit of information she'd learned about him.

"Oh, I would love to see your approach to that topic at some point!" She exclaimed excitedly, "I'm always fascinated by different ways of bringing it up, even though most people get really squeamish whenever I try to discuss it!"

Tucker shot both Church and Simmons a look that clearly said _"Can't imagine why that is when most of what she says is disconcerting as fuck in general."_ But he apparently decided, rather smartly for all involved, that moving the topic along before any brains could explode would be the best course of action.

"Neither of you happened to see Grif before you got here, did you?" Tucker asked the two newcomers instead as they seemed to settle into the current group's dynamics.

While they were waiting for an answer, Simmons noted that Sheila had gone over to talk quietly to Lopez about something. The female robot had even extended a cordial greeting to both Junior and Donut in the process.

Lopez, oddly enough given his own robotic nature as well as his usually more exasperated responses to just about everything, actually seemed rather nervous and happy with the gunmetal green robot's attention placed upon him. Well, as far as most people could tell anyways.

Donut's translations were more than just a little suspect at times when it came to any words Lopez spoke and, while Sheila evidently knew what the other robot was saying, she apparently chose not to translate it all the time out of _"politeness"_ either for the brown-armored individual or for everyone else. She would never say which it was.

Both Donut and Tucker swore Lopez was in love with Sheila, and Simmons was starting to suspect that they might be on to something with their theory the more times he witnessed their exchanges.

Of course, Church kept swearing he would gouge his eyes out if he ever caught wind of any kind of _"robotic lovefest"_ that happened as a result.

Then again, the goateed man tended to say the same thing whenever anyone joked about the possibility of other couples in their group, such as Grif and Simmons. And, well, it wasn't like there was much of a chance of _that_ ever happening, was there?

Simmons fidgeted slightly, hating himself for dwelling on that topic again when he had promised himself he wouldn't. Considering everything that had happened, there was _no way_ that would—

"I'm afraid I haven't seen him since the previous morning." The robotic female was telling Tucker just then, interrupting the redhead's thoughts now that her exchange with her other compatriots and Junior had apparently finished.

"And I'd seen him that afternoon." The teal-wearing man was frowning pensively.

"Should I try reaching him through messaging his armor's comm-link?" Sheila inquired as she moved over to help Church lift one of the heavier boxes they needed to set down for further inspection.

The dark-haired man glanced at the robot gratefully, the gesture a bit surprising and almost out-of-character for him. If anyone else had attempted to do so, Church would have probably shouted angrily at them for butting in without asking, save for maybe Carolina or Doctor Grey given his rather intelligent healthy dosage of fear he had for both of them.

Truthfully? Church had bitten heads off for far less than someone offering him help. Then again, he and Sheila had always had a very close bond together, even before they had become part of their odd and mismatched group of outcast soldiers.

Carolina, Sheila, and Washington had all said it was due to events at the infamous Project Freelancer, but they always refused to elaborate any more than that. Church would just say it wasn't anyone's goddamned business and most likely follow that up with giving them the finger for good measure.

He could be a bit of an asshole at times. Though, in fairness to Church, the same could be said for any of them in certain moments.

"Nah, thanks anyways though." Tucker told her, "Knowing the fat-ass, he's probably sleeping somewhere after stuffing his face and isn't remotely close to his armor."

Simmons stiffened slightly, wondering just how accurate Tucker's guess may be. Considering that the other man had tried begging him to go out last night—

"Oh, like that one time when he somehow ended up in that all-you-can-eat hotdog contest and passed out in a ditch?" Donut questioned cheerfully, Simmons thankful for the interruption to the train of thought his mind was currently traveling on.

"I still say baiting a cage with donuts and beer is the only logical way to find that lazy excuse for a soldier whenever he goes AWOL." Sarge grumbled, "Though why in that case you'd actually _look_ for him and not celebrate your good fortune is beyond me."

Since the end of the war, Sarge's anti-Grif commentary never had any actual bite to it anymore, no matter how harsh it might sound to an outsider.

Something that was proven a second later when the older soldier turned to Sheila and told her it was probably a good idea to message him anyways despite the possible futility, if only so that he could berate his subordinate for once again making everyone needlessly worry over him.

Doc had been glossing over some medical supply lists with Doctor Grey, but he paused to look thoughtfully at Tucker, "I had seen Kaikaina earlier today when I went to visit the hospital wing." He recalled, "But she didn't mention seeing Grif."

"Yeah, he tends to avoid Kai when she's training with Bones because of that last time she used him to test giving shots." Tucker nodded his head slightly with the recollection.

Simmons remembered that incident as well. Afterwards, the larger tanned man looked like a walking pincushion for quite some time with all of the bruises that had formed around the spots the syringes had entered, and he couldn't even sit down for long periods of time without extreme soreness and aching.

Grif had been especially upset following that because he later found out that said shots had all been empty. He'd evidently hoped that maybe volunteering to help his sister out could have resulted in him being vaccinated for every disease in existence for life somehow, despite everyone telling him that wasn't an actual thing.

The lazy ass always _did_ like to dream about anything that could help him potentially avoid future effort.

Despite all of that, Grif simply didn't have the heart to ever tell his little sister no, especially since he was actually quite proud of how motivated she was to have more proper field medic training. It did help to keep her out of more direct combat situations, after all. So, instead, Grif had just started to avoid _ever_ visiting Kai when she was training at the hospital.

"Yeah, I'd heard about that." Doc mentioned, looking slightly teary-eyed, "Bones said it was an amazing display of familial love!"

"Except the whole tricking him into agreeing to it." Church mumbled under his breath.

"Actually, she said that _was_ the part that reminded her of familial love." Doc informed him cheerily, "Apparently family outings are quite something at her house!"

Church shuddered for a moment at that in a _"I don't really probably want to even know."_ gesture before adding emphasis by shrugging, "Eh, probably still better than any of mine were."

"Aw, Church, that isn't fair! Carolina's a great sister!" Donut chided him.

"Yeah, she is." The other man scoffed, "It was some of the others who were the assholes."

Church's expression had darkened considerably, and he muttered something about how he needed another cup of coffee before quickly leaving the area.

The others watched him go and Doc couldn't help but wince a bit behind his purple-framed glasses, asking rather regretfully: "Did I say something wrong?"

"Dude, it's just Church." Tucker reasoned, "You know how he is. Sometimes just saying _"Hello"_ is enough to piss him off."

"El repartidor estaba llorando la última vez que se abrió la puerta primero." _{"The delivery man was in tears the last time he opened the door first."}_

"Lopez is right! Sometimes Church just needs time." Donut reassured the medic, causing the brown-haired man to smile slightly as Lopez let out what sounded like a mechanical groan while Junior looked at him questioningly.

Simmons sighed, glancing at the exit that Church had gone through.

Sadly, there was no fucking way he would be getting any coffee now. Not if a sullen and grumpier-than-usual Church was guarding the pot and probably willing to kill anyone who tried taking it from him.

"Anyways, that brings me to _you_ then." Tucker deduced, turning his full attention to Simmons.

This caused the redhead to blink and bring his mind back to the current situation. Being put on the spot always made him exceedingly nervous and self-conscious, especially since he had a fairly good idea as to why he was being put there now.

"M—me?" Simmons tried playing stupid anyways, "How come?"

Tucker arched an eyebrow incredulously, "Come on, dude. If _anyone_ is likely to know where Grif is, it would be you."

"He's right, Simmons." Sarge piped up just then, "The two of you are very close. Have been ever since you met, practically. Inexplicably so. Completely defying any concept of logic or reason."

Simmons felt the still-human portion of his face heat up, but ignored it to respond to Tucker.

"H—he did say something about wanting to go out to a bar he likes last night." He muttered, "But there was work I felt needed to be finished here first. I haven't seen him since."

The cyborg didn't mention that the work he "needed" to finish was not at all urgent, or that he had just come up with it needing to be completed just then to get out of said night on the town. Thankfully, his workaholic tendencies in general meant that most people wouldn't question the occasional fib about things like that.

Nor did he mention that the reason he had done so was because Grif had _really_ wanted to go out with him alone that night. They didn't need to know that Grif had seemed a little weaker on his feet than usual and more than just a bit red-faced. The last time the two of them had been out together privately when that had been the case…

His thoughts shifted to just how disappointed his friend had looked at the ever-growing tally of night-out invites that Simmons had rejected. The redhead decided not to mention that either.

No, it was really best _not_ to dwell on all of that right now. For any of them.

Simmons felt guilty over stuff as it was, and the questioning look on Tucker's face just then wasn't helping anything.

"Well, that's just fucking perfect!" He groaned, finally turning his attention away from seemingly attempting to read the cyborg for clues as to there being more to the story, "This is literally the one time when trying to find Grif isn't as easy as just checking in with you."

Simmons flushed, wincing inwardly, "Sorry, Tucker."

Since the search for their chubby teammate was holding up the works for an expedition that could prove vital for the region of Chorus as a whole didn't settle well with Simmons, and because he _was_ feeling a bit nervous with no one really being sure of where the other man had gone, the cyborg offered, "I…I could help you look for him. If you'd want."

He then turned to Sarge questioningly, "If that would be all right with you, sir?"

The older man shrugged, "A waste of energy if you ask me, but I won't stop you." He thought of something else just then a moment later, "It would probably be best if you took a break anyways for a few hours since you stayed here all night working on the one repair. While it wasn't too vital, it was probably good you decided to fix it now. We'll be sure to message you if anything changes."

Sarge was being generous, no doubt because with Doc and Sheila there they had even more help than usual.

Besides, in his own oddly roundabout way, Sarge probably wanted them to find Grif too. If only for the sake of starting the mission that would hopefully lead to more explosive-creating items.

"Thank you, sir!" Simmons couldn't stop himself from saluting again.

"Fuck, yeah! That'll definitely help!" Tucker grinned, "I would have tried asking Wash, but he's been busy with training some of the new soldiers."

"Plus Carolina would probably get annoyed that you even bothered asking her." Grey reasoned wisely.

Tucker couldn't help but laugh then, "I'd avoid doing that just because the hospital trip both Grif and I would have to go to later would totally not be worth it."

No one really argued that point. At all.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly overhead when the two men stepped outside after Tucker had said his goodbye to Junior.

As the dark-skinned man was busy promising Junior something good and totally unhealthy for dinner that night, Simmons momentarily shielded his eyes against the onslaught of brightness. His inorganic eye was especially sensitive to extreme differentiations in light now.

After one last wave to Junior, his friend was already contemplating the best way to approach their search, "So, how about I check out all of the restaurants and bars then?"

Made sense, even if Simmons also suspected Tucker was just curious to catch wind of anything interesting that might be happening in the entertainment sector of the city on top of trying to locate his salvage partner. Sometimes Grif's " _nights out on the town_ " ended up carrying over well into the next day.

The amount of food and alcohol he could consume was pretty damn mind-boggling.

Simmons gave a quick nod, "I can check out the apartments then."

Given that, it also made a whole lot of sense that Grif could have possibly dragged himself home at some point during the night and had passed out there too.

"Sounds good to me." Tucker nodded as well, "Even if I don't find him, I'll head there to get ready for the mission anyways."

Just like that, the search was on.

Tucker went left a little farther down the street, heading through the winding streets and alleyways lined with buildings and rubble intermittently strewn about in the direction of the entertainment district.

Simmons, meanwhile, headed right and towards the living facilities that had been set up for those soldiers and other personnel who were aiding in the rebuilding of the city.

They had been redesigned into apartments now. However, during the height of the war when not only Chorus but the rest of the world as well had been at each other's throats for survival, the facilities had served as barracks.

Given just how many people had been drafted, or even served voluntarily over the course of the fighting, they were pretty fucking spacious now that the rooms had been limited to just individuals, the occasional roommate duo or trio, and families. Even with the constant influx of new people coming into the region every day.

Simmons glanced around him, taking in just how much things had changed in the aftermath of the ceasefire. For starters, walking around like this in the middle of the day without seeing a shitload of on-duty soldiers would have been near impossible even just a couple years ago.

For the longest time, _well_ before any of them had even been born or created, there had only been two nations on the entire planet.

Red and Blue. No one was sure why those names had been picked. Calling countries by colors was a rather peculiar practice if you asked him and, really, the reasoning behind the names was probably pretty far removed from the simple reality of living day to day on the planet.

At some point in the world's history, the two countries entered into war with one another.

No one even knew the reason why that had come to pass either. After all, it had been centuries ago. For all anyone knew, someone in one country had thought someone else from the other had simply looked at them funny.

Regional boundary lines became blurred as a result. A place would fall under one banner until the tides in fighting shifted, then they would become controlled by the other until the next shift.

Resources and people didn't particularly matter during the fighting. Priority always went to the war effort no matter what else might be going on in a locale. Most advances in any of the technology or medicinal fields tended to go hand-in-hand with the war effort too.

Simmons had, he was fairly certain, been born in a region that had been controlled by Red at the time. But, the locale had changed sides so often depending on what was happening during the fighting that no one could keep track without getting a massive headache.

It didn't really matter, anyways. No one was exceedingly loyal to one group or the other. You simply swore loyalty when power shifted, or you would just have to leave before being executed. That was the rule at the time.

His family had been somewhat influential, though he honestly wasn't sure _how_. It had something to do with what his father did for a living, but his parents never thought it important enough to fill him in on what that was. Their good standing had persisted until sometime later on when Blue came back into power.

That particular power struggle had been met with oddly brutal violence from Red supporters. Again, Simmons thought it had more to do with some kind of economic deal with other regions still controlled by Red than any actual loyalty to a country that seemed now more symbolic than anything real.

Still, that particular string of violence had resulted in his parents' deaths.

The redhead hadn't exactly had a happy home life beforehand. His mother had tried, but his father? Well, he was distant most days, and terrifying on others. Truthfully, Simmons hadn't really wanted much for anything though beyond perhaps an active social life given his overprotective mother's tendencies to shelter him. His life back then never felt more than just empty and unfulfilling a lot of the time.

After their deaths, Simmons found himself not being in a home anymore, and with no family to speak of who cared about what happened to him. Whatever money his parents had left for him had been snatched up by so-called relatives he had never met before who pretended he didn't exist and left him out on the street.

He found himself suddenly more alone than before, with absolutely no idea of what to do.

To make a _long_ story exceedingly short, he had found his way into the military a little while later in a neighboring region.

Red or Blue. It didn't matter to the soldiers really either given how quickly banners changed. Sarge always had a preference for Red though, and bemoaned whenever they were stuck serving under Blue until the inevitable switch occurred again.

It was honestly ridiculous, how things had carried on. But, as Carolina had once said, the whole planet had become so adapted to a never-ending conflict that they were too preoccupied waging it to see how flawed and insane their way of living had become.

Most people at some point or another served in the military given that, or their livelihood more than likely somehow stemmed from it. They didn't really know of any other way to live given how ongoing, how _constant_ it was.

But, it hadn't been all bad. Not really.

Simmons had ended up in a mismatched military unit that he thought for sure he would hate at first, but instead they had become the family and friends he had never really had growing up.

He was still oddly grateful for that, if nothing else.

Then the war simply stopped. Simmons wasn't sure exactly _what_ had happened there. Truthfully, no one knew. Fuck, most people hadn't even known there were actual _people_ in charge of the nations as they assumed any leaders were just symbolic footnotes by that point. The whole thing had seemed like a pipe dream at first.

When the surprise ceasefire had occurred and whatever shadowy organizations that had been in control of Red and Blue dissolved to allow everyone to fend for themselves, their group had opted to all stay together since none of them had any ideas on where to go from there or what to do. Nor did any of them seem to have any places they wanted to return to.

Eventually, they'd found themselves at Chorus.

It was one of the few regions that had opened its doors to outsiders following all of them being left to fend for themselves with the two countries gone, in exchange for helping the region rebuild in the aftermath of the war. The welcome mat at Chorus was even extended to genetically engineered people, of which their unit had a few.

Their group hadn't left since then, even if it was still a bit hard settling into a more peaceful way of life.

Simmons glanced about the debris pushed to the sides of the streets and walkways. It had remained there long enough for flowers to begin growing through the cracks. His gaze wandered to abandoned buildings, and ones that were only recently rebuilt and getting back to use.

The cyborg's vision went off into the distance, towards the energy shielding set up to protect the city that was still very slowly getting back on its feet years after the ceasefire.

They still had more than enough to do before any of this felt remotely "normal," but it was progressing all the same.

By the time Simmons had reached the barracks-turned-apartment complex, the redhead was wondering what exactly he would say if he ran into Grif here instead of Tucker finding him first. He contemplated the scenario as he walked up the five flights of stairs to reach his destination.

On the fifth floor hallway, he paused at the all-too familiar door that was only a few ones down from his own small apartment, wondering if he should knock or just enter in the key code.

He knew Kaikaina Grif was out, continuing her medic training at the hospital. Having grown up with constant fighting around her and often looked after by their resident pacifist medic in purple, it was no wonder the girl didn't seem as keen on becoming a soldier like her brother.

So, that meant it would only be Grif in there. He'd be possibly hung over given his plans for earlier, or…

Sleeping soundly after having gone through an episode of "release."

It was _that_ thought that gave Simmons pause as he debated his options. Well, that and the fact that he had to remember again how he had lied earlier about _having_ to work through the night and into the early morning hours. It usually took him a few seconds to school his thoughts around fibs.

The cyborg had known there was a good possibility of _that_ in particular when Grif had asked him to go out with him earlier, thus the need he had felt to lie.

Grif's face had looked rather flushed despite his dark skin tone then, and he had seemed oddly antsy for him. Both of which were telltale signs that the "fire" in his veins had started building up to the point where he would have to find a way to release it before he became physically sick.

Growing up, Simmons had always heard about how there had been genetically engineered people who had _not_ been created solely for war, though the instances where he would have met any of them given his more isolated upbringing were few and far between back then.

Genetically engineered people had been used to replace the dwindling population of naturally born citizens, to work the jobs that were less than desirable. That was even why, more often than not, the ones that had been created to serve in either the military or mercenary units were often considered more "disposable" than their peers.

Simmons had known that genetically engineered people were often "tailored" to have specific skills or strengths too, such as Caboose's immense strength or Washington's quick ability to improvise.

He had also known that one of those "professions" had included the _entertainment industry_ , for lack of a better term that wouldn't make him blush bright red when even thinking about it. But, he hadn't known about the touch reactivity that had been built into those particular "batches" of artificially created humans to make them more responsive.

At least, not until he'd met Dexter Grif.

Likewise, Simmons hadn't even realized that genetically engineered people were actually often only left in their birthing tanks until infancy or toddler age. Not until he had seen the then ten-year-old Kai clutching her brother's hand when they had been first introduced to everyone.

People tried glossing over that fact, most likely to make it seem less disturbing in general though the whole thing crossed all sorts of ethical lines no matter how others tried justifying it.

Coming face-to-face with that knowledge had been unnerving, to say the least.

Another thing that the Simmons from back then would have never even suspected could have happened at all either?

Falling in love with Grif over the course of a several years-long friendship.

Over the years that they had gotten to know each other, the redhead had of course started to suspect it at times. However, that particular knowledge was cemented completely following one "night out on the town" due to a stupid impulse Simmons had gotten after having more alcohol than he probably should have. He had just wanted to see what would happen if he reached out and touched Grif's bare shoulder like he'd always wanted to, and then there were those subsequent _hours_ in the shade and one hell of an awkward aftermath…

Shows what little the cyborg supposed he had always known, no matter how much he might try to claim otherwise.

Truthfully, Simmons hadn't hated what had happened between them back then. Quite the opposite, really. It was embarrassing to admit how often he would relive it in his head when he had moments to himself.

But, he hadn't been at all sure of how to react afterwards since he had never done anything like that before, and Grif had seemed so _odd_ following it too. His friend would be awkward and distant one second, then he'd try to act like it hadn't really been a big deal the next.

Not too surprisingly, things had gotten complicated.

Even more-so after the redhead had gotten seriously injured and became augmented with cybernetics in order to prevent his death.

Honestly, following that one night, Simmons had meant to work up the nerve to talk to Grif and figure things out, even if the thought of remotely doing so had scared the shit out of him and made him want to puke. But suddenly becoming a cyborg, a "less than human" reminder of the fighting that they were constantly living through? In his mind, it had put a complete stop to having _that_ talk.

If there had been _any_ chance that Grif had perhaps reciprocated his feelings back then, how he looked following the cybernetics probably nixed the deal completely.

So, Simmons had done the only thing he thought he could do. He tried to act as if it had never happened in the first place, and just went on with the status quo. That way, he was keeping a relationship he'd come to value and rely on safe, even if he secretly wanted so much more from it.

His main strategy for doing so was completely avoiding nights on the town where it was just going to be him and Grif, particularly when he knew Grif was most likely close to needing "release." Along with always pretending Simmons had gotten a message of utmost importance that he really needed to go take care of if he ever even _suspected_ that Grif was contemplating bringing up the topic himself.

Simmons honestly felt guilty about it in a lot of ways. Particularly since he wasn't blind to the _hurt_ that would flash across Grif's face before the other would school it into his usual apathetic and bored expression as they fell again to a friendly routine with a _"Well, maybe next time then."_ That was then always followed by Simmons' usually way too fake cheery _"Oh, yeah! Definitely."_

But, the cyborg also knew he was playing it safe in order to keep their relationship as it was and not ruin it. He kept trying to convince himself it was probably best for the both of them in the long run. Still, seeing the aftermath of whenever Grif had obviously gone and gotten "release" wasn't easy, even if he knew well enough by now that Grif wasn't equating emotions at all to it.

…He'd wanted both that _and_ emotion with Grif, so it wasn't fair for Simmons to feel hurt over his own decision now.

He just had to keep telling himself it was for the best and carry on with being just friends. Which probably meant that the redhead shouldn't just be staring at a door contemplating this shit for the millionth time in his mind until he could at least partially agree to his decision again, shouldn't it?

Sighing, Simmons entered in the passcode, knowing if Grif was in a deep sleep or passed out he wouldn't hear a knock. He'd memorized the Grif siblings' code by heart along with his own given how often he had to practically drag Grif out of bed.

Besides, even if he _was_ conscious, there was a really high likelihood that Grif wouldn't answer the door anyways if he was really feeling lazy. Which happened often. Simmons had lost count of how many times he would have to sign for Grif's mail and stuff given that.

The door opened quickly, darkness from the shading activated on the windows currently enveloping the piles of junk strewn about everywhere. The Grif siblings must have cleaned recently on account of that inexplicable rabbit problem they'd had. There was a refreshing lack of any subtle sort of smells to tickle the nostrils in terrifying new ways.

He could hear a beeping noise coming from a junk heap in the far corner of the apartment. Once his night vision activated, Simmons could make out that the sound was from the orange helmet resting on top of it. It was most likely the message that Sarge had asked Sheila to send earlier.

So, it didn't look like Grif had come here to crash or anything else after all.

The cyborg sighed, figuring he would check his apartment next. Similarly to Simmons, Grif also knew his teammate's passcode. He would sometimes crash at Simmons' if Kai was having a friend over or something.

Often enough, those visits would be completely unannounced too. Simmons would come home from work to find his friend passed out on his couch, or he would find the chubby man in that very same position some mornings when he woke up. Grif could be oddly stealthy when he wanted to be.

Grif could have possibly gone there if it had been really late by the time he had gotten back and he didn't want to wake Kai up. Similar to how her brother acted if you disturbed his rest time, the younger sister could be more than just a wee bit cranky if her sleep was disturbed.

It was worth a shot, anyways.

Entering his own passcode, Simmons stepped into his smaller, not really decorated apartment. Even with as many years as they had been there now, he hadn't found the time to really look around for extra décor due to the sheer amount of work they always had to do. Donut had offered to help him redecorate a few times, but he usually tried to change the subject quickly to avoid having to decline due to differentiating style tastes when it came to home décor.

He took another step with the beginnings of a " _Hey, fat-ass!_ " forming on his lips that died away the second he processed three things in quick succession.

One: the shower was running in the bathroom, so someone was in there.

Two: the sheets on his bed were not perfectly arranged as he had left them the other day, but were all over the floor of his bedroom.

Three: between both bathroom and bed stood an incredibly tall, statuesque woman around his age of thirty-two who was currently in the process of putting the long strands of her brown hair into pigtails.

She glanced over at him gaping at her with mild amusement as she finished doing so, "Oh, hello! This must be your apartment, I take it?" The brunette glanced around the space for a moment as she continued greeting Simmons as if a total stranger being in his home was a common occurrence, "I figured it wasn't Grif's since he's so messy."

"Um…" Simmons blinked, still slow to process what was going on.

The woman smiled brightly and walked over to the redhead, holding out a hand for him to shake. She looked rather familiar in her jeans and shirt, as if he had seen her out of the corner of his eye a few times around the city but couldn't quite place where.

"My name's Cass." She was still speaking cordially since Simmons' brain was refusing to function enough to let him get out any proper sentences, "Sorry for the mess!"

She was glancing behind her just then at the bed.

The shower had stopped at this point, and a moment later Grif had stepped out of the bathroom while looking oddly sated given his appearance the night before.

"Hey, Cass—!" Grif stopped abruptly at seeing Simmons there, suddenly looking rather sheepish and more than just a tad guilty, "Simmons. I thought you had work."

That moment was when Simmons finally put two-and-two together about what had happened here.

"Tucker is looking for you." He mumbled, cursing himself for his voice sounding so small just then.

Grif swore, his flash of guilt at having his episode of "release" in a friend's apartment momentarily forgotten, "Fuck. I bet that means there's a mission, huh?"

Simmons nodded mutely, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face and failing miserably. He felt, and no doubt looked, a lot like a kicked puppy at the moment.

Cass, however, was staring at Simmons with a suddenly eager gaze. The smile that had been on her face before spreading even wider across her features.

"So, _you're_ the infamous Simmons that Grif keeps going on about!" She gushed, grabbing his hand in her surprisingly strong grip and giving it a friendly squeeze, "Now I have a face to go with the name he's always crying out!"

 _That_ caused his brain to all but short-circuit once more. He could see Grif looking sheepish once again out of the corner of his eyes.

"Er…" Simmons paused, took a moment, and started again, "Come again?"

She glanced questioningly from him to Grif before opening her mouth to respond. Suddenly Grif was there, grabbing onto her arm.

"All right, Cass! Don't you need to get back to the bar for inventory checking or something?" Grif asked her, but the tone of his voice and the expression he wore just then was almost oddly pleading for him.

Understanding dawned in her blue eyes then, and she shot a sympathetic look back at Simmons before giving his hand another reassuring squeeze as she did so.

"Right. I'd forgotten I needed to do that." She looked down at the purse at her side, a beige apron sticking out of it.

Simmons remembered why she looked familiar now. Cass was the owner of a bar they had been to before. He knew the bigger partiers of their group went there quite a few times, but he'd only ever been on the occasional outing.

She leaned over and gave Grif a kiss on the cheek. Simmons noticed it was affectionate, but in an oddly friendly way instead of anything that had a lot of heat to it.

Grif didn't even visibly react to it like he would most touches.

"Call me again if you get desperate. I am _not_ dragging your grown-ass out of my bar again because you refuse to take proper care of yourself." She chided him in a way that was very akin to sisterly.

Cass turned to Simmons then and, to his surprise, did the same thing to his still flesh and blood cheek, "Maybe you should try calling me too if you get desperate." She told him teasingly when she pulled away, noticing his face reddening slightly.

"Um—!" he was blushing like mad now, which had her smiling even more.

"That might be hard for him to do, considering he can't even talk to most girls." Grif joked just then, though there was an odd tone to his voice that Simmons couldn't quite place.

Cass rolled her eyes before Simmons could even get out an indignant retort to cover up his hurt, "Like you're one to talk, Grif. Kai only hangs out with you because you're related to her, and you're pretty damn lucky I'm generous enough to call you a friend."

She patted Simmons' shoulder reassuringly, "It was nice to finally meet you, Simmons." She told him, moving past him to get to the door, "Drop by the bar more with this one and your other friends. Maybe I'll give you that fabled drink discount Grif always hounds me for."

"Hey!"

She ignored Grif's protest, pausing just before reaching the door to lean over so that her mouth was closer to the cyborg's ear, "Try to be patient, if you can." She whispered conspiratorially to him, "He doesn't mean to be, but the man's an idiot when it comes to this kind of stuff."

As Cass walked out of the apartment, Simmons was still trying to process what she had meant by that. Grif looked at him guiltily again, now that it was just the two of them standing there awkwardly.

The tan man cleared his throat, "So—"

Just like that, Simmons remembered what he _should_ be feeling in this situation, even as just a friend.

"What the _actual fuck_ , Grif?!" He screeched, "You had sex in _my_ bed!"

Regardless of the medical need for his friend to do so and the very much platonic display Simmons had just witnessed between Grif and Cass, that was still brain-breaking on way too many levels even without taking into account his own feelings for the other man.

Grif took on a defensive stance at his tone, even though it was obvious by how he had been acting up until now that he knew he had been in the wrong, "Well, at least _someone_ did!" He shouted back, "When was the last time _you_ even had sex, Simmons?"

Simmons was about to retort that was beside the point when Grif's question inadvertently brought his mind back to said _last time_ unbidden.

His thoughts drifting to literal _hours_ in the shade and…

The redhead's face was heating up horribly at that point, and he glanced up after realizing that Grif had suddenly gone quiet too. He was surprised to see the darkening signs of a blush on his friend's tan face as well as he stared at Simmons with a _very_ odd and rather unreadable expression plastered on his facial features.

Simmons recovered first somehow, coughing awkwardly to cover up the sudden drop in yelling, "Regardless, I have to spend _my_ time off _fucking cleaning my sheets_ because of _you_."

He would have wanted to maybe nap a little. Especially considering how he'd only slept for a few hours in the breakroom earlier and that had been interrupted when Donut found him there, chiding him on account of how bad that was for his skin.

Now, because Grif was an _idiot_ , that time would be spent cleaning and trying really hard to not feel certain things or imagine stuff that would never happen.

An inner part of Simmons said some of that was his fault too given how things had played out earlier, but he quickly told that part to shove it.

"I—" Grif looked horribly, uncharacteristically awkward, as if he was just about to say something more when the door opened again and Tucker suddenly burst into the room.

Simmons tensed, having forgotten that Tucker said he would be coming back to the apartments if he hadn't found Grif yet.

"Hey! Was that Cass I saw just now?" He asked, whistling, "She is looking as hot as ever."

Tucker paused in light of the two men in Simmons' apartment who were now glaring at his intrusion, "What?"

Simmons sighed, moving over to his bed to start stripping it, his anger deflating a little due to Tucker's interruption, "Just go and get your armor on, fat-ass." He told Grif quietly, "You should be good to go now, and you shouldn't keep Kimball waiting."

Grif looked as if he was about to argue. But, with Simmons pointedly ignoring him following his statement and the realization beginning to dawn slowly on Tucker's face as he started piecing together the events he'd missed out on, he simply sighed and left.

Tucker frowned, staring at the closed door for a moment before turning to regard Simmons.

"I know that was a _really dumbass_ thing for even a dumbass like Grif to do," he began finally, looking horribly awkward to even be having this type of conversation with the redhead in the first place, "But you have nothing to worry about."

Simmons refused to look at the dark-skinned man just then. If he just kept going through mindless chores, maybe he could distract himself from all of the hurt still roiling around inside of him and his own insecurities.

"Cass _is_ an ex-girlfriend of Grif's, yeah, but that was _way_ back when they were kids practically and it didn't even last for more than two months from what they've said." Tucker took Simmons' silence as a sign that he could elaborate, "She moved here to Chorus before he'd even joined the army, was married to one of Kimball's predecessors before he got himself killed."

Simmons frowned. He had recalled actually seeing a gold ring on a chain around her neck before, but his mind had been so frazzled at what Cass being there had meant that he hadn't put together what the ring had actually been for. The cyborg wasn't sure why Tucker was deciding to explain all of this to him either.

"She offered to help him out as long as they were both single whenever he needs "release" because they're friends. But, trust me, neither of them feel anything romantic for the other anymore."

Simmons thought back to the earlier interaction he had seen between the two of them, but continued saying nothing as he grabbed at sheets.

"If the age thing didn't weird her out, I'm pretty sure she would have offered the same deal to Kai now that she's legal just because she knows what their whole deal does to their bodies."

The redhead frowned even more at that comment, remembering that he had volunteered something similar to Grif once a long time ago.

Obviously not for Kai, but a few years back Simmons had offered to do the same thing Cass did in order to help the older Grif when he'd found out about his situation, as horribly and embarrassingly awkward as that had been for him to do. So, why hadn't Grif accepted _his_ offer back then?

 _Fuck it!_ Why had Grif acted like nothing big had even happened after that one time they had together?

"So, you don't have anything to worry about there." Tucker was concluding whatever point he was trying to make with his explanation, "It's basically a medical thing, man."

Simmons swore he heard Tucker add in a muttered " _a fucking_ awesome _medical thing_ " but didn't dwell on it. He doubted Tucker actually meant that anyways considering he knew about the less-than-ideal negative side effects Grif and Kai's condition gave them. He just liked talking rather big when it came to any matters involving sex.

Instead, the cyborg bit down on his feelings once again and managed to choke out, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Tucker."

"Uh-huh." The sarcasm was practically dripping from Tucker's voice, "Sure you don't."

He didn't even have to look up to know that Tucker was giving him one of his _"you are fucking bullshitting me!"_ looks. Simmons tried focusing on cleaning instead, hoping his friend would take the hint and drop the conversation completely.

Right now, he was inwardly debating whether or not he should even bother cleaning the sheets or just burn his bed outright.

* * *

As soon as the door to Simmons' apartment closed behind him, Grif let out a large sigh and leaned heavily against it.

Yeah, he had pretty much fucked _that_ up majorly, even if a night out drinking and getting to the point where he had started feeling like he was being boiled alive hadn't helped matters much. Neither of those two things usually resulted in him acting with a clear mind.

In all honesty, Grif had long since accepted the defect in his body. Technically, it was called an "enhancement." But, that was just some asshole's way of trying to justify shit that _shouldn't_ be justified in the first place.

He dealt with it in the same way he dealt with pretty much anything he thought gave him extra work, mainly by ignoring it until he couldn't anymore.

Which totally explained the pile of underwear that had become a tree in the middle of their barracks way back when. It had ended up being a double bonus for him that Donut and Doc had both been thrilled by it from a decorating and " _environment boosting_ " stance, _and_ he had gotten out of having to do at least one load of laundry.

Getting "release" by that buildup point was pretty easy too. Fuck, most of the time someone simply touching him enough would put him over the edge. Actually, that had kind of been the case with things last night too. _Fuck it_ if he was going to really debate the finer points though when someone was justifiably mad at him, but also yelling to the point his ears could bleed.

The truth was that there was no real emotional process with it at all. Cass was just a friend who knew about the things he went through because of his genetic engineering, so she didn't judge the situation like others might. Having her help was not only just safer in the long run, but also more convenient.

Grif knew she wouldn't carry it any farther than he wanted it to go, even when he'd reached the point of almost mindlessness due to overstimulation. But, still, doing that in Simmons' room even if his friend also understood the situation was…

He ran a hand through his black hair and groaned.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure why he had felt the urge to do that. But, then again, Grif wasn't in the best mindset last night following yet _another_ rejection by Simmons after he had asked him to go out with him. All that had done was cause the redhead to start running around in his head again with a vengeance.

Not that the cyborg wasn't pretty much always there anyways, these days. But, things like that always made it harder to push all of the sentiment and feelings Grif had for the other soldier back down in order to act like they weren't always present.

Cass hadn't been _wrong_ with saying it was always Simmons he called out for in those moments, though he sure as fuck wished she hadn't _said_ it to the giant nerd just like that!

Still, last night, being there in the redhead's apartment had just sort of intensified that longing about tenfold more than normal. In his fevered state of mind, he _hadn't_ been there with Cass last night. No, rather in his haze, he had been with Simmons instead.

Honestly, it was _always_ Simmons nowadays.

Too bad his friend had been actively avoiding discussing all of this sentimental crap that had been brewing between them for years ever since that _one_ time.

Too bad _he_ was too afraid of really pushing the issue on the chance that he'd scare the stupid cyborg out of his life for good if he pressed too much.

Too bad Grif was such a fucking dumbass that he kept doing shit like he did last night that made things about fifty times even more complicated, and all just because he wasn't great at dealing with this level of deep feelings in general.

Now Simmons was going to be pissed at him, admittedly not without a valid reason, and would probably avoid talking to him even more.

Also, Cass was going to give him an earful for being a moron the next time he went drinking to boot. Kai probably would as well if she told his sister about the incident, and Tucker most likely would be too.

Grif was debating going back in to help clean up at least since he knew he had royally messed up, but Tucker was still in there and he wasn't sure he wanted him making his usual "love drama" commentary in front of Simmons just now.

It was bad enough that Cass had done it, but he was fairly certain the poor guy's mind had been so short-circuited at that point that Simmons hadn't really picked up on it. Now, the cyborg was no doubt over-thinking everything like the dork he was and would be hyper-aware of any and all commentary. Since he really didn't seem to want stuff with Grif going in that direction, the tan-skinned man wasn't going to push it.

Besides, he should get changed into his armor. Simmons would bitch even more if he shirked his duties again. Plus, if he was going to help clean he'd have to open the door to Simmons' apartment again and suddenly he just didn't have the energy for that.

He'd figure out some other way to make things better. One that preferably did not involve cleaning anything.

Reluctantly, Grif walked the expansive, taunting few meters to his own apartment and opened it, turning off the shading in the windows so that light would pour through the space. Kai usually always forgot to turn them off before she left in the morning.

His space was somewhat larger than Simmons' because Kai also lived there, just like how Tucker's place was a bit larger too on account of Junior. But, you couldn't really tell that due to the messy state the Grif siblings' place was always in.

Surprisingly, they _had_ gotten slightly better with maintaining the space due to the constant nagging over health and hygiene concerns from their friends, but neither Kai nor Grif were too keen on tidying up often.

He made his way over to his armor and began the laborious process of putting it on after removing the empty candy wrappers from it. Grif reached for the beeping orange helmet last.

There was a message from Sheila, but it was about how Tucker had been looking for him. So, he shot a quick reply back just to let the conscientious robot know he'd met up with both him and Simmons before tucking the helmet underneath his arm.

He left a message pad on Kai's bed saying that he would be on a mission in case she came home. It was hard to tell anymore with his younger sister if she would crash here or not on any given day, especially now that she was twenty-two and tasting freedom in the relative peace of living in Chorus. As long as she didn't mention orgies or anything like that again, he was _trying_ to give her a bit more control for once in her life. After leaving the message pad, Grif decided it was time to head back out.

Tucker, changed now into his armor as well, was waiting for him at the lift.

"Dude, you are _so_ fucked." His friend remarked without any preamble the second he saw Grif approaching, "That was really fucked up."

"Shut up, Tucker." Grif muttered, giving him the finger as the lift lowered them once more to ground level.

"I know that things have been majorly weird for the two of you since that one time, but using Simmons' apartment for your "release" stuff is _not_ going to make things any easier in the long run." He told Grif as they hurried back through Chorus proper to the Armonia district where most of the military and medical facilities were located.

"You think I don't know that?" The orange-armored man rolled his eyes at the rather big statement of the obvious.

"Well, evidently _knowing_ it and _avoiding_ it are two _very_ different things for you." Tucker shot back quickly, but seeing the deepening frown on Grif's face, he relented slightly, "It might just be easier if you told him how you felt, dude."

Things must be either majorly obvious or horribly bleak if _Lavernius Tucker_ of all people was attempting to give him romance advice.

Grif bit down on the urge to shoot back something about Tucker's less-than-stellar track record in that department. Or how blatantly in denial he was still about his growing feelings for a certain paranoid blond Freelancer, but he resisted the urge.

Even if it _was_ oh-so-tempting at present.

"I'll apologize later." He told Tucker instead.

Simmons would mope for a little while, yes. But, then the redhead would get over it and things would get back to as close to "normal" as they got with the two of them now, what with Simmons avoiding him when it came to hanging out alone for too long and all.

Grif wasn't sure if he was particularly thrilled at that prospect either, but he supposed it was better than _nothing_.

"Junior's hanging out with the others." Tucker remarked casually, sensing Grif's still pensive mood and wanting to change the subject, "Hopefully he won't cause too much trouble."

"Isn't it the other way around, usually?" Grif took the bait, grateful for the distraction it provided, "Remember that time Sarge figured he should learn how to use a flamethrower _"just in case"_? Or that time when Doctor Grey decided to test out her talk about where babies come from on him and Caboose?"

Tucker shuddered at the recollection, "Don't remind me! Though Caboose was the only one who got nightmares from it."

"Oh, _and_ Church ended up giving the two of them coffee." Grif remembered.

"That was only once and, trust me, I don't think he'd _ever_ make that mistake again." Tucker joked. That memory, while nightmarish at the time due to a hyperactive child and teammate, was a rather fun one now in a vindictive sort of way towards their grumpy comrade, "Trying to calm Junior down had been bad enough for Church, but I think Caboose literally climbing onto the ceiling just about did him in."

"Odds are good there will be no fires, questionable discussions about babies and changing bodies, or caffeine this time around." Grif noted, "So, there's probably nothing you have to worry about then."

"At least once Simmons gets back all of the others will be there to counter their crazy." Tucker added, relieved since everyone else tended to be a little more grounded in their approach to babysitting.

Grif frowned, "I thought Simmons was off now because he had to work last night."

"No, that was an extra shift or something." Tucker replied as they stopped in front of the former military headquarters where they were often briefed at, "Sarge did give him some hours off because of that, but I am pretty sure he's going back today for his regular shift."

So, Grif's suspicion that Simmons had actually been purposely avoiding hanging out with him last night was pretty much confirmed then. He wasn't sure why he felt surprised about that kind of thing anymore, or why it hurt as much as it did still.

Tucker paused, noticing the frown once again deepening across his friend's face, "Is something wrong?"

Ever since his cybernetic surgery in particular, Simmons had become even more awkward than usual and had even started avoiding him more. If Grif were being honest, he knew it had happened a little bit before then too, but it had definitely become even more noticeable since then.

He wondered if it was because a part of Simmons blamed Grif for being the one who had insisted on performing the cybernetic surgery to the others, back when Simmons was unconscious and dying and didn't really get to have a say in the matter.

Even though making Simmons a cyborg had been the only thing they could do to save his life, it was a big change for someone to have to accept. The redhead had always been extremely self-conscious even before then, so he knew that the cybernetics probably weren't helping in that regard.

It majorly _sucked_ still if that was in fact the reason for why the cyborg was avoiding Grif, but at least he could be grateful Simmons hadn't shut him out completely yet.

"No, it's nothing." Grif told Tucker before putting on his helmet, the display screens flaring to life once he sealed it on, "Let's just get this over with."

Tucker looked as if he wanted to say something else. Ultimately though he just nodded in reply before doing the same with his own helmet as the two stepped inside the facility.

"You're both late."

Of all of the people Grif had figured _might_ be waiting for them in the briefing room, former Freelancer agent Carolina was definitely not one of them.

Usually, if a Freelancer was to be present it tended to be Washington as he had slightly more patience for their shenanigans. But Grif had forgotten that he was busier these days trying to train the new recruits.

Normally Vanessa Kimball, the military leader of Chorus as well as the first leader of _any_ region that was a genetically engineered person, would be there too. However, the dark-skinned woman was nowhere to be seen either, leaving just the scowling Carolina in view. Well, along with three other people.

Donald Doyle, the more administrative leader of the region, was also present. Basically, he did the type of work that would probably bore the crap out of Grif, but would more than likely be right up someone like Simmons' alley.

The graying blond was standing behind Carolina rather awkwardly, probably scared that she would turn the smoldering look she was currently giving the two tardy men on to him in a second's notice for some comment he hadn't intended offense by. The poor guy suffered a bit from foot-in-the-mouth when it came to interacting with people.

Nearby Doyle were two newcomers in steel armor, one with orange trim and the other with green.

"Sorry about that, Carolina!" Tucker was nervous under her glare and let out an awkward sort of laugh, "We had to deal with a domestic squabble between Grif here and his husband of who-knows-how-long by this point."

Grif oh-so-subtly shoved him hard in the shoulder, causing Tucker to stumble and shoot a glare through his visor back at him.

Normally, either Carolina or Doyle might inquire about that comment further just for amusement's sake, but the redhead didn't even raise an eyebrow at their antics and Doyle still looked rather nervous. Carolina's expression was a distrusting one as she glanced over at the two strangers in their midst, and that alone proved how seriously she was taking whatever situation it was they must represent.

"Caboose is already at the checkpoint." She stated as she turned back to Grif and Tucker without any kind of preamble, "We should head out."

The friends glanced at each other questioningly.

The survey information that Grif had just read up on as they were walking to the briefing room had said that the site in question didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary, so the mission was going to most likely be a very routine run.

Why Carolina was tagging along given that was more than just a little worrisome. It definitely gave them the impression they were more than just a little out of the loop currently.

"Shouldn't you be introducing us first?" The man with the steel and orange armor asked, his brown eyes looking between the three with mild amusement, "It's only the polite thing to do considering we'll be working together."

"Come again?" Tucker asked, thoroughly confused by this point.

"Oh, quite right! Apologies for my lack of manners just then." Doyle, who had been very visibly on edge after having been stuck in a confined space with a tense Carolina and these two new armored figures, dipped his head quickly in their direction, "These two are Felix and Locus." He stated, "They are from a group of mercenaries who arrived last evening in Chorus seeking employment."

"Sweet." Tucker nodded his head approvingly, "Usually the only mercs we have around here are the ones trying to steal shit out on the field."

The two men glanced at each other.

"Yes, well, times are pretty hard out there right now for everyone." Felix said quickly, "Chorus has been gaining quite the reputation for tech and stability. You can't really blame people for wanting a bit of that themselves."

Carolina looked as if she was about to interject something then, her green eyes turning even more steely than usual.

Felix continued on as if he hadn't seen her reaction at all, and Grif couldn't tell if that was a smart move or a really stupid one given how extreme some of Carolina's responses could be if she felt insulted, "Our group is just smart enough to know if we help maintain and build up that stellar reputation you guys have, we could get a bit more money and benefits out of the deal."

"We do need all the extra help we can get." Grif added in, rather relieved at the prospect himself.

Everyone was stretched pretty thin in the rebuilding effort. Several extra, capable, and actually experienced hands were always welcome additions in his book. Especially if it might mean the possibility of less work for him in the long run.

"Right." Doyle nodded his head in agreement, "Miss Kimball is actually showing the rest of their group to places where we are in most need of further assistance as we speak."

So _that_ explained her absence then. It made sense given that Kimball liked to oversee as much of what was going on in Chorus as possible. She no doubt trusted Carolina enough to be her eyes here.

"Felix and Locus, however, heard about the salvaging mission and wanted to see how they generally operate for future fieldwork." Doyle continued to inform them.

Felix stepped forward then, Locus remaining a silent and, Grif was man enough to admit it, intimidating presence at his back. The mercenary smiled as he walked, and the expression seemed to go all the way up to the black hair that was spiking up on top of his head.

"We're _really_ looking forward to working with you."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Something tells me Tucker and Grif are going to be changing their minds a bit later on in the story about having that extra help. XD

This is first chapter to the multi-chapter fic I will be writing once I am finished with "Above Ground". Apparently, I can't NOT write odd AUs for this fandom when I write lengthier stories. Or without Grif and Simmons being the main characters (as well as morons for the sake of drama!). There will be some other character POVs in later chapters though. As far as head canons for how the characters look here, continuing with the "Above Ground" ones since that's how I picture them in my head (except Junior in this story). Basically, I'll be using this story to explore different sci-fi tropes I've been curious about writing. So, hopefully it'll be interesting!

Actually, planning on this being the main story of a series called "The opposite of war is…" ( _Saga_ reference, yay!). The fic-verse will be explored further in prequels which will also likely feature many of the Freelancer characters who won't be making too many appearances in the main plot for reasons that will be obvious later, and there will be side-stories too. This is the first time I've even attempted to do an actual fic series, so I'm looking forward to trying it out!

For those wondering: Cass is technically _not_ an original character, but definitely more of a really minor _RvB_ one. She's actually the ex-girlfriend that Grif had told Tucker about during the _Recollections_ story arc in the actual series. I just ended up fleshing that character concept out more in this fic for story purposes, so I needed her to have a name, haha! She and Grif are not a pairing in any way, shape, or form but rather just really good friends who are almost like family (will be actually going into their story later in a prequel), so no worries about love triangle drama here! Actually, she will be getting into a romance of her own later on since I sort of felt bad that I ended up giving her a bit of a tragic past with being a widow and everything. Randomly: my head canon for Cass is that she looks very similar to Cheryl from _Archer_ during her Cherlene phase, except with less revealing clothes. XD

Most of the pairings and everything for this (both past and present) I have already figured out, although if anyone has a preference for a Kimball pairing feel free to mention it here! I tend to like a lot of pairings featuring her, so I'm indecisive about which one to do in this fic. But, I also think a pairing dynamic for her might actually be interesting given what her story-line here is!

I do really apologize for this not being the next chapter of "Above Ground" though. I was going through some really odd and chaotic moments during the last month and ended up getting a massive writer's block due to all of that when it came to a very crucial part of the next chapter that I had been building up to for quite a while in the story. Eventually, for my own emotional reasoning, I figured it was best to just step back from the story to brainstorm more for it and figure out where to go from there. Along the way, this fic idea also came into play. I figured since I ended up getting it written quickly because of that, I'd post it as a preview for my next big thing after "AG." Good news is that I have all of the final parts of "AG" wonderfully outlined now and am back to finishing up the part that had put up such a massive roadblock before. So, I will be updating that one next along with perhaps the occasional oneshot here or there if I feel inspired. Should be two "AG" chapters left, MAYBE four because knowing me they will get lengthy. O_O; So, I hope you will not only look forward to the conclusion to "AG," but also what will happen later on in this one! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Two:

Even with the surprise announcement of the addition of two strangers to their ranks, the scavenging and salvage mission they were going to do was a fairly routine one.

Still, despite Carolina's hesitancy and distrust of the newcomers, Dexter Grif would say having them around was most likely a good thing since it provided more people as support and protection. Not to mention it lightened the overall work load for everyone else, which sat well with his admittedly lazy mindset.

During the time frame of trying to get the settlement up and running they had, understandably, been focused more on hitting larger facilities due to the likelihood of there being more valuable items in abundance there still. The kind of items no one residing in Chorus would have wanted others to pick clean before it could be determined if they had any possible benefits for the city.

According to Doyle, an area close to Chorus had yet to be fully scoured for parts since it contained smaller buildings, so it would be an excellent time to check out that area now. Particularly since it wasn't too far away. Plus, it could help to provide a better idea to some of the residents the kinds of jobs that the mercenaries might want to actively participate in later on if they showed interest in it.

Given that line of thinking and since they were apparently the leaders of their group, Felix and Locus had apparently wanted to be the first of the mercenaries to see what salvage mission runs for Chorus were all about.

So, that was pretty much the gist of the meeting. Afterwards came Doyle's own departure to check on another matter he felt was urgent for Chorus to run smoothly which, from what Grif had gathered, there was always _something_ on either his or Kimball's to do list in that regard. He didn't really envy them the workload for running this place. That was for sure.

Following the mission briefing and introductions, it was back out onto the streets and pathways of Armonia for the orange-armored fighter and Tucker.

Not at all surprising given how she had been present when Doyle had debriefed them earlier, Carolina was also tagging along this time.

The two former Freelancers in the midst of their little tight-knit group didn't always come on scavenging missions with them, unless they felt there was a very strong possibility that something could go amiss. They tended to be fairly routine assignments by this point through and through, so it said _a lot_ about the redhead's unease over the mercenaries accompanying them that she was coming along too.

Particularly since this mission in general seemed to be even more of a cake walk than usual. Grif's stomach rumbled slightly at that particular word choice, and he tried not to think about how awesome it would be to instead be devouring an entire cake all by himself right about now.

Fortunately for them, both Tucker and Grif were well-accustomed to Carolina's mindset and wisely didn't comment on the change in routine. If she wanted Felix and Locus to think her inclusion was par the course, then it was best from a personal health stance for the two men to just go along with it.

"We've done a bit of reclaiming work before." Felix explained as they made their way out of the medical and military district proper and towards the outer wall and shielding of Chorus, "But never exactly for a region, and never probably by the most legal of definitions of _reclaiming_."

Carolina's stance became even more rigid, if such a thing were possible. But, she kept her mouth closed on whatever thoughts had come to mind at the mercenary's choice of words just then. Grif and Tucker were a bit more open to being understanding of the situation.

"It's been tough for everyone." Tucker noted, not exactly sympathetic but with a tone of voice that was pretty nonjudgmental towards the admission.

"True." The orange-armored mercenary replied, nodding slightly as if in appreciation of Tucker's comment, "Though, can't say it won't be nice to finally get the chance to make something of a living _without_ always having to do questionable things to survive."

Felix glanced around the area they were in, taking in the sight of the rebuilding projects going on and the buzz of activity as residents, both in non-military roles and otherwise, went about their business before speaking again, "The situation here in Chorus is definitely an ideal one in a lot of respects."

Locus continued to remain just as quiet as he had been throughout their meeting, his helmet pointed straight ahead and never deviating as they walked, though Grif had the general sense that he was observing things with probably an even more critical eye than Felix was as they continued their trek.

Both the steel-and-green armored mercenary and Carolina seemed to have that whole _silent intimidation_ thing down pat.

Grif tried to ignore the tenseness, instead choosing to see how the once war-torn Chorus area seemed to be improving all the time around them. There was an odd twinge of inner-pride for his own part in the rebuilding, though he would never admit it to anyone.

However, as they walked through the still somewhat debris-strewn streets that were extending farther towards the outer limits of the city, Grif also noticed for the first time several people in steel-colored armor milling about.

Some of them were working with others in the more familiar looking tan and white shades of armor that had sort of become the unofficial common colors to signify Chorus military personnel in helping to clear away some of the remaining rubble pieces, doing repairs and maintenance, or other assorted tasks. Other mercenaries simply seemed to be resting and taking their new surroundings in with a cautious, excited air.

Whenever one of these newcomers caught sight of Felix and Locus nearing their positions, they would stiffen slightly and nod to them, a gesture that the two men returned as some kind of indication amongst their group that things were going smoothly.

Tucker whistled after one such exchange, "Man, you guys sure have a _lot_ of people working for you!"

There was a definite smirk in Felix's voice when he responded, "Well, lots of people were left without anywhere to really go after the war." He reminded the teal-armored man, "So long as they could continue holding their weight, they were welcome with us."

Grif supposed that made sense. If their ragtag group hadn't become as close as they were now during all of the shitty situations and fighting they'd been tossed together through, who knew what would have happened to all of them following the ceasefire?

Without the goal of getting to Chorus safely together, they could have easily become mercenaries themselves. Or, even worse yet, indiscriminate raiders that preyed upon those who were trying to make new lives for themselves out of the ashes of the old.

It was something Grif would rather not dwell on all that much, especially for some of the group in particular. People like the childlike Caboose, Tucker with his _actual_ very young son in tow, kind-hearted and altogether far too perky Donut…

Not to mention any of the new recruits here at Chorus that were around his sister's age. There were a lot of them: younger people who had barely even adjusted to the war suddenly finding themselves adrift before hearing about this place.

Thinking along those lines, what would have become of his little sister if anything had happened to him? Or what would have happened to _Simmons_? Grif shuddered, thinking about Kai and the cyborg in particular just then.

It was a fucking miracle that they'd all survived long enough to meet up in the first place. Even more of one that they had managed to survive all the shit thrown their way following that.

He'd definitely prefer not to dwell on any depressing, or terrifying, what-if scenarios if he could avoid it.

By the time they'd reached the exit out of the energy shielding they would be going through, Michael J. Caboose was already waiting for them. The blond was happily talking the ears off of the bored guards at the gate post, fully armored in blue and with his trusted friend Freckles at his side.

Caboose often went with them on these missions as he had come from a batch genetically engineered for freakish strength. Not to mention that Freckles happened to be a hell of a better shot than most of them combined when the Virtual Intelligence was let loose, so the added security there was a nice advantage.

The blue-armored fighter was good to have around even for cases like this where a transport would most likely not be necessary, largely because they still couldn't rule out the possibility of heavy items completely.

Though, if that turned out to not be accurate, they had marking trackers to activate so they could know the exact location to bring one to later if it ended up being too much even for genetically engineered super strength.

Despite Caboose's perplexing ability to somehow inexplicably cause most machinery he touched to burst into flames, something he would often blame Tucker for or just random other people if the other man was not present, even as a soldier he had proven himself to be surprisingly adept at finding often _very_ valuable caches of weaponry, tech, and other important items. Whether through sheer luck or what, no one was ever sure.

The members of the Red and Blue teams often surmised, given his usual colorful retellings of events from his past before meeting up with all of them, that was probably the main reason Caboose had managed to survive in the world after he had been cast out of his batch for the "defective" traits of being too innocent and too problematic.

That was when Caboose had found Freckles in his original mech body, before the Blue team member ended up somehow "befriending" Church. Grif couldn't even imagine that even those assholes who had it out for genetically engineered people would have attempted to tussle with either Caboose's friend or his "dog".

Even following the destruction of his killer robot body and transfer into the assault rifle Caboose now carried everywhere with him, most learned rather quickly to give the V.I. a wide berth. As well as to _not_ do anything even remotely threatening to the blond holding him.

"Oh, hello!" Caboose turned his attention to the small group heading towards him now, and it was easy enough to picture the bright grin that was probably plastered on his still youthful face despite his helmet being on.

He trotted over to them, waving frantically as sighs of exasperation tinged with relief could be heard coming from the guards behind him. They'd been later arriving than expected, so who knows how long their brains had been broken by the younger soldier's enthusiastic and often very colorful and misinformed stories.

"Do we have new friends?" Caboose asked, curiously peering at Locus and Felix.

The mercenaries exchanged a look that ended with Felix turning questioningly to Tucker who just shrugged, his body language pretty clearly saying that it was best to just go with it.

"We sure are, buddy." Felix jumped into the odd conversation very skillfully, "We just so happen to be new to Chorus, and figured going on one of these retrieval missions sounded like fun."

"Oh, they are very fun!" Caboose's beaming smile would have most likely been as blinding as the sun by this point, "If we just find stuff, there's usually a party later! Sometimes there are people out there who like to play tag with bullets, and that's even _more_ fun for Freckles. Right, Freckles?"

"AFFIRMATIVE, CABOOSE." The gun in question spoke up.

"Yeah, he _loves_ getting to play tag." Caboose said fondly, "Everyone is so worn out after getting to play with him that they all end up taking a nap together!"

Felix, however, was ignoring the rambling soldier's excited commentary to stare down at the weapon he held rather curiously, "You guys have a gun that's been modified with a V.I.?"

"It's a _long_ story, trust me." Tucker sighed and nodded at the same time.

"I'm sure it is." Another look passed between the two mercenaries, "I'm curious though. Are there _a lot_ of other V.I.s like your pal Freckles here?"

"Freckles is one of a kind!" Caboose boasted proudly, loving the chance to show off his friend whenever he could.

"CORRECT."

Grif was honestly surprised given the satisfied tone of the gun that a burst of confetti hadn't followed that. The Red Team member and Tucker, however, caught on pretty quickly to what Felix actually meant with his question. As did Carolina, who stiffened considerably just then.

Locus seemed to be gauging their reactions silently, even as Felix continued to be rather nonchalant and patient in his body language as he waited for the answer he wanted.

"Do mean talking guns or V.I.s in general?" Grif asked after a moment, figuring he might as well make sure he'd gotten his interpretation down correctly before answering.

Felix shrugged as if the question didn't really concern him all too much, "V.I.s in general." He elaborated, "They're a bit rare to find these days, is all."

Because most of them had been destroyed in the war. That was the main reason both Lopez and Sheila had decided to stay with their group too, especially considering how they were now more-or-less thought of as "hot commodities" on the black market in the postwar environment for all sorts of different reasons.

"That really isn't any of your business just yet." Carolina cut into the conversation so bitingly quick that it was pretty obvious she was telling the others to not mention anything else on the subject yet. Even though, if the two and their group stuck around for any period of time, they'd run into the other V.I.s residing in Chorus eventually.

Felix backed off quickly, "Okay, okay! I was just curious."

"Somehow I doubt that is all it was." Carolina harrumphed, turning in the direction of the guards with a silent nod to let them know to start powering down the gate.

Felix seemed about to comment on her remark when an excited cry from Caboose cut him off.

Evidently, the blond had been so preoccupied at first with the prospect of meeting new friends and showing off Freckles that he'd forgotten about the Freelancer's rarer presence in their midst until just now.

"Agent Carolina!" He raced up to her, pulling her into a giant bear hug. She tensed for a moment, but allowed it all the same, ultimately relaxing after a few seconds. Caboose was one of the only people she ever tolerated that level of contact from, although that had only come after she had warmed up to him a bit and learned he was fairly harmless, "You're coming too?"

"That's…that's right, Caboose." Despite his hug probably crushing a good amount of air from her lungs, she managed to awkwardly pat the younger man on the back.

At her confirmation, he pulled back and glanced around the area even more excitedly, "So, is Church here too?" Caboose asked, "He is my bestest friend!"

Well, Grif could understand Caboose's question given that, _if_ Carolina usually went with them, the odds were usually pretty high that Church would tag along too.

"PARDON ME?" Freckles' voice held mild indignation at the phrasing.

"My bestest friend who is not a gun." Caboose quickly elaborated, giving the assault rifle a comforting and reassuring pat as he did so, "Or a dog."

"THAT'S BETTER." The gesture evidently was enough to soothe over any hurt feelings that Freckles' might have had.

Which was pretty good for all of them, really. It was always a bit risky to be near the V.I. when he was feeling particularly moody or upset.

"Who's Church?" Felix asked, curiosity again lining his voice, "One of your other friends, I take it?"

"Oh, he is the greatest!" Caboose did not notice Carolina tensing up in response to the mercenary's question next to him, "He is Carolina's brother and he is loud and angry, but that is just how he shows his love."

Tucker couldn't help but scoff at that last part of Caboose's description, "Asshole loves _a lot_ then, given his rant last night."

Felix regarded Carolina's suddenly rigid posture with renewed interest at the revelation, "Huh. Somehow, it's surprising to think you have family here."

The dangerous tilt of her visor just then as she turned to glare at him spoke _volumes_ , causing all three of the people more familiar with her mannerisms, even the normally oblivious Caboose, to step away.

"I _really_ don't see how that's any of your business." She practically seethed, and even Felix at that point got the hint. Or, at least decided to no longer pretend as though he hadn't as he'd been doing before.

Yeah, Grif was definitely protective to an extreme where Kai was concerned, but Carolina's overprotective "big sister"-ness was the stuff of both legends and nightmares.

The orange and steel-armored mercenary held his hands up and took a step back, "Easy now. I was just curious." He stated, trying to defuse the ticking time bomb he had managed to activate, "Just didn't really see you as a family person."

"Again. Not _your_ business." She repeated, voice cold like the edge of a dagger.

He nodded emphatically, "Sorry if I was being too intrusive. Or whatever." He quickly attempted to placate her by jerking his head towards Locus, "It's just that when someone like _this_ guy is your partner, you kind of get starved for conversation."

"Felix." Locus' tone was a warning as well.

Carolina observed him for another tense moment before scoffing and stomping off to see what was taking the guards so long with the gate. There was an uncomfortable silence following her departure, and Caboose quickly ran to follow her in the wake of it.

Tucker put his hand on the back of his teal helmet awkwardly, "So, uh, sorry about that." He told the two men, "She's just a bit wary of strangers."

"Understandable."

Surprisingly, it was Locus who spoke up first.

Felix quickly took point, nodding, "Yeah, given the war and how things are these days, trust _is_ hard to come by." He looked thoughtful, "Hopefully we'll earn it. Eventually."

Tucker was grinning underneath his helmet, "If you keep helping us out on runs like this, you just might!"

"Might not want to hold your breath until then though." Grif couldn't help joking.

"I could tell that already."

With those words from Felix, the two retrieval soldiers excused themselves to go meet up with Carolina and Caboose by the guard post.

Carolina's posture was still unnaturally tense and rigid, her arms crossed over her chest. Caboose's attention had turned to the buttons the guards were currently pressing, an obvious longing to be able to play with them too in his helmeted gaze.

"It's going to be a few more minutes." She said tersely without even turning around to face them, "There's some kind of mechanical malfunction making the controls a bit unresponsive."

"I suppose it's better that it's taking longer for the shielding to go down than if it just stopped working altogether." Grif tried for a bit of levity.

The grunt that Carolina gave in response was far from comforting.

"Was it really that big a deal that Felix asked about Church?" Tucker apparently decided he wasn't going to try beating around the bush.

Carolina whirled around sharply then to face him, "Could you honestly tell me that you would be all right with them suddenly asking about Junior?" She questioned before turning her gaze to Grif, "Or Kaikaina?"

The two men frowned, glancing at one another. Carolina _did_ have a point there. Church wasn't exactly what one would call "normal" even by genetically engineered standards, and Tucker's son definitely wasn't either. Given what both Grif and Kai had been designed for…

"Okay, okay." Tucker sighed in concession, "Fair point."

"It's a little sad this is such a small party." Caboose decided to interject himself into the conversation just then at the mention of more of his friends, "Sarge and the nice doctor lady especially always love going out with us."

"This is a job that doesn't really require a ton of us, Caboose." Tucker informed him.

Besides, whenever Sarge muscled his way onto a salvage run, it was usually just so that he could have more of an excuse to blow things up or shoot off his shotgun. Usually just a few meters from wherever it was that Grif happened to be standing at the time in both cases.

Doctor Grey would lose herself in excitement over _any_ type of tech they happened to find, often while gushing off some really disturbing statistics about what it could potentially do to a human body in the process.

The two of them together out on the field was always a bit much. Add to that Church's grumbling, Donut's _frolicking_ , or Simmons' general kiss-ass and nerdish tendencies? Well, that was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Besides," Tucker added in a conspiratorial fake whisper that had Grif breaking away from his thoughts pretty quickly, "It would be hella awkward having everyone with us right now for Grif, _especially_ Simmons."

This caused both Carolina and Caboose to glance at the chubby man in question curiously, and Grif was thankful that he had his helmet on to cover up his suddenly rather hot face.

"Knock it off, Tucker." He muttered.

Tucker shrugged his shoulders, the smirk obvious in his voice, "Hey, I'm just saying!" He joked before suddenly regarding Carolina thoughtfully, "Although I _am_ surprised that Wash isn't here too."

He turned his head from side-to-side as if to see if he could see the steel and yellow-armored figure about to pop up and surprise them just then. Carolina and Grif exchanged knowing looks. Tucker was _always_ the first to notice or comment on what he thought to be a general lack of Agent Washington in a given situation.

Not that Grif couldn't understand why that was the case in this situation in particular. Usually if one of the Freelancers felt a salvage mission required their presence for added security, _both_ of them would come along for it just to be on the safe side.

"Wash was assigned training duty with the new recruits today." Carolina informed them, "He had some other matters to attend to following that as well."

Which loosely translated into that the paranoid Freelancer was just as nervous about the sudden arrival of the mercenaries at Chorus as Carolina was. The blond would no doubt be observing the ones that were staying in the settlement while Carolina monitored their two leaders out on the field.

"Sorry for the wait!" One of the guards called out just as the shielding around the gate dissipated and the heavy metal doors opened with a very loud clang, "You're free to go whenever you want."

" _Finally_." Felix let out a sigh of relief as he and Locus approached the small group, "Let's see what this is all about, shall we?" He seemed rather excited to finally be able to start, "Lead the way, guys."

* * *

"All right then. Stay close." Carolina's comment was definitely directed more towards her three comrades as they stepped through the gates, the energy shielding flaring up behind them in a matter of moments.

She was doing her best to pointedly ignore the two mercenaries in their midst, though that was probably better in some ways than her directing her suspicions at them constantly. Grif supposed it was a small improvement.

With Carolina, you had to take what you could get. They all knew this by now given how long it had taken her to warm up to their small group when she had joined them along with her brother and Caboose.

She started off from the settlement at a brisk pace, not wanting to linger too long out in the open. It was more than understandable, and a pretty basic survival strategy when traversing the "wasteland" areas in-between more secure locations.

Staying on the move and being alert while out in the open, until you had some amount of cover from foliage or debris, kept you alive and uninjured more often than not both during the war and now when there was "peace."

They generally didn't have _too_ much to worry about so close to Chorus, due largely in part to how efficiently Kimball casted her security net around the city. As well as due to the natural landscape providing a pretty open view without too many spots for more than one or two people to hide in for quite some distance until you hit a hillier, tree-strewn area later on. But, regardless, it was best to maintain the old habits.

He had seen firsthand in the past in other regions how surprisingly _easy_ it had been for attackers and raiders to set up ambushes astoundingly close to settlements and other habitats without being detected.

Besides, the sense of security from Chorus _did_ fade a bit the closer you got out of range of the settlement proper. After all, it _was_ all too easy for raiders and the like to perhaps be sniffing around in the forested parts of the area. They'd dealt with that occasion from time to time, though thankfully with each repelled instance it seemed as if the incidents were becoming farther and farther in-between.

The "dead zone" that surrounded Chorus was the beginning of the expanse of land referred to as the "wasteland." Basically, it was the terrain in-between settlements. It was termed thus because it was pretty much just scorched, dead earth.

There were some rocks, burnt out husks of destroyed buildings, twisted up vehicles here and there. It was pretty much flat, empty terrain for quite a bit of ways. The result of a particularly brutal attack at some point during the war, before Chorus had even been officially founded. A painful, sad reminder of what had been lost.

But, it also worked itself rather ingeniously into the defensive designs of Chorus too, showcasing how someone could try to breathe even some purpose and new life into a space that others might just call ruined and desolate without a second thought.

Grif supposed there was probably some sort of symbolic message hidden in that sentiment or something, though he didn't care to dwell too deeply on it.

... _Maybe_ if Simmons was the only one with him, he might. He was the only person that Grif had ever felt comfortable mulling his philosophical thoughts over with for some reason.

He sighed as they walked farther away from Chorus and towards the more forested part of the "wastelands": a burnt out, mocking shell of what had probably once been a beautiful and ancient forest, though new plant life was just now beginning to poke out from and thrive on the dead remnants of the old.

It was _not_ a good time to be dwelling on his favorite resident cybernetic kiss-ass and nerd. Especially not when they were walking, which he doubly hated.

He knew the coordinates they were exploring weren't that far away from Chorus this time. That it was good from a resource management perspective, one of the few things both Kimball and Doyle seemed to mostly agree on, to not use a transport if they could avoid doing so.

But, Dexter Grif _was_ lazy. Walking was one of his least favorite activities. Second on his list of "least favorite ways to use his legs" behind running. Seriously. _Fuck_ running.

He felt like he had done more than enough walking and running to last fifteen or more lifetimes already, first with just keeping Kai safe and then in the army. When they'd reached Chorus, he had kind of hoped he'd get the chance to just stand or lay around more. Do nothing but talk with Simmons constantly and some of the others too from time to time.

But, he supposed it was irony or something that wasn't the case. _Maybe._ Now that he thought about it, none of them had ever been able to settle on what actually counted as "ironic".

Walking was a further pain the ass because, while they were a few steps behind Caboose who was keeping up rather well with the " _nice angry lady_ ," Tucker was evidently able to pick up who his mind had just drifted to from his sigh, stepping into line right next to Grif.

"Seriously, dude." His friend started, his voice lowered so the others wouldn't overhear him, "You two just need to get your shit together."

When Grif didn't comment (well, he rolled his eyes but it wasn't like Tucker could see that), the dark-skinned man continued, "It would do you _and_ the nerd a world of good after all this time to just stop beating around the bush and _finally_ make it fucking official."

Up ahead of them, over Caboose excitedly chatting to her and Freckles, Grif _swore_ he saw Carolina's head tilting back to regard the two of them curiously for a moment. As though she'd overheard at least a bit of what Tucker had said.

He _so_ didn't need her adding her input on this topic either.

Grif frowned underneath his helmet at Tucker's commentary, knowing that what he was saying was more or less impossible at this point, despite how easy Tucker and the others always made it sound in their teasing "advice". Especially given how it seemed like Simmons was going out of his way a lot of the time now to _not_ talk about anything more personal with Grif like they used to do.

Which still hurt a bit more than the orange-armored soldier cared to admit, but he was secretly terrified of doing anything else unknowingly that might push the redhead even further away from him.

Grif made a mental note to himself all the same that, regardless of said fear, he still needed to at least make an effort to apologize privately all the same for the whole having-sex-in-the-other-man's-bed thing.

Again, decisively _not_ wanting to dwell on why he had done so in the first place ( _it smelled like Simmons, so he could almost imagine he was with Simmons_ ) since that also hurt and brought up more annoyingly sigh-inducing longing than he'd ever care to admit to anyone.

Knowing the nerd like he did, Simmons would probably be his usual overachieving self and would be working late on something again. So, it would be easy enough for Grif to drop by and maybe get Simmons to eat something since the kiss-ass was often too preoccupied to eat if he had gotten particularly invested in whatever it was he was working on at a given time.

Besides, food apologies were some of the best kinds of apologies. Anyone who knew Grif knew that he was sincere about anything if he sealed the gesture with food.

Realizing though that Tucker was waiting for some kind of remark to what he'd said, Grif rolled his eyes again and responded with his customary smart-ass intellect: "That's a great idea, Tucker." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, "I'll get right on that once you and Wash make things official."

 _That_ did the trick, as Tucker coughed awkwardly and nearly tripped over his own feet, "P—please! He's just a friend!" He spluttered, "He adores Junior, is all."

True, Washington had bonded closely with Junior on account of their shared genetic engineered heritage. But, he'd invested _a lot_ of energy in rescuing the boy's "mother" too, and had decided to remain with the group upon getting them back despite having no obligation or reason to do so.

Plus, he often sought out Tucker's company in his free time and vice versa even when Junior wasn't directly involved. It was probably past time for the two of them to start admitting that they cared about one another a bit more than as just friends too.

Not that Grif would mention it too much beyond snarky teasing and comebacks. Washington wasn't the best when it came to understanding or expressing his own feelings, and Tucker was equally oblivious to his own for different reasons. Both Doctor Grey and Doc both said it had to do with his " _emotional maturity_ " or something.

"Uh-huh." Grif didn't sound convinced at all.

Tucker walked a bit away then, muttering something about " _stubborn dumbasses_ " under his breath. Grif had a feeling it was directed at him, Simmons, _and_ Washington all at once.

Not that he really cared, mind you. It was only fair he could tease Tucker back for all of the " _old married couple_ " remarks his friend threw his and Simmons' way constantly. Besides, his finally dropping the subject for the moment at least made the intolerable injustice of further walking slightly more bearable.

Just barely though.

* * *

The small group finally approached the ruins that Doyle had pointed them in the direction of, and Lavernius Tucker couldn't help but grin slightly in relief. He maybe didn't complain nearly as much about it as Grif did, but he wasn't a huge fan of walking a ton either.

Any type of movement resulted in him having horrible flashbacks to the "leg day" training that Wash used to put him through. He felt a small amount of both pity and relief for the lieutenants that the Freelancer was currently tasked with training since he didn't have to do that anymore himself.

Besides, with Caboose's misplaced enthusiasm and Carolina looking about ready to rip Locus and Felix apart if they so much as _sneezed_ funny, the sooner they got this assignment over with, the better it would probably be for all of them in the long run. He was definitely eager to get back to see his kid as soon as possible, even if Junior was in good hands with the others currently.

The patches of vegetation that were beginning to grow over the distorted and burned land, as well as the people-made structures that had fallen to disuse over the decades as everyone fled to what safety and security settlements could offer, made for a bit of an odd sight.

The spot had been razed for most of the war and was just now back on the path to becoming a healthy forest again. It would take a shitload of time for that to fully happen, though.

Doc was convinced that the positive energies coming from everyone trying to rebuild and live in peace in Chorus would help, though the only person he'd really gotten to listen to his whole spiel on that was Donut. Maybe Lopez and Sheila too, but they could have just turned off their hearing and never told anyone.

Well, Junior seemed to like the sentiment too. He often caught his son trying to look wistfully past the shielding at the area outside of Chorus. His smile always lit up at Doc's optimism when he talked about the subject, almost as much as Donut's did. Tucker had tried his hardest not to roll his eyes for his son's benefit.

The building they had come for sat in a circle of ruins, amidst debris that had probably at some point been buildings themselves.

This one stood out from those in two very obvious ways: it was still very much standing, and it had been made with a metallic material that had an odd sheen to it when it caught any fragments of light filtering in from the pitifully tiny leaves or the naked, burnt branches of trees.

After all, " _people-made_ " didn't necessarily always mean humans were the builders.

"Huh." Felix approached the structure first, absent-mindedly running a hand over the sealed door's surface. Locus took point with Caboose wordlessly, "Looks like someone's already tried getting into this one."

He was indicating the scorch marks and pathetic scratches carved into the unyielding metal of the door.

"Numerous times, most likely." Locus' gravelly voice spoke up just then.

Grif scoffed, "Well, yeah. That's because these alien caches can be fucking goldmines."

No arguments there. Alien tech was pretty highly sought after, and had evidently helped with the advancement of human development upon its discovery even if the aliens themselves were no longer around.

Rumor had it that _a lot_ of that tech was one of the initial causes of the war too, but who knew if that was true or not anymore? It certainly had been used in it to help kill people, _that_ was for sure.

"They did a piss poor job of it though." Felix remarked, a frown in his voice, "Everyone knows you need a shitload of firepower to force one of these suckers open." He scoffed, "Must have been some amateur raiders."

Heavy firepower was an understatement, all things considered. A lot of weaponry was wasted prying open ruins exactly like this one the world over. _Fuck_ , this entire area had been burned countless times during the war, and these structures still stood relatively untouched when everything else around them had been decimated.

Tucker couldn't help but grin mischievously at the mercenary's comment, figuring that the two newcomers were probably wondering just _how_ they were going to attempt this when they hadn't brought the usual tools of the trade along with them.

Pretty much everyone in Chorus knew about Tucker's trump card now. It was rare that he had the chance to show it off anymore. He was _so_ going to fucking own this moment and make it look good.

"Yeah, but _they_ didn't have _this_!"

Tucker pulled the hilt of his sword from his side, the blade coming to brilliant life the second he did so. His grin widened at the surprised reactions that elicited from the mercenaries, "Oh, yeah, I so fucking own this!"

"An…an alien energy sword?" Felix sounded shocked, "Do you _know_ how rare those are?" He took a step closer to it, as if mesmerized "If I could sell that!"

Tucker held up his free hand to stop him, "Hate to burst your bubble, but this is one-of-a-kind." He informed Felix, "It only works for me."

The sword was the second best thing to happen to him following Junior. Who knew getting kidnapped would end up being a weird-as-fuck blessing in disguise? It certainly helped him look all the more badass like he knew he was.

"Tucker's toy is nice, but it can't play catch like Freckles." Caboose remarked from behind helpfully.

"CATCH IS SUPERIOR TO ALL ELSE."

Caboose nodded in agreement, "Except tag."

"EXCEPT TAG." Freckles agreed, "WHICH I CAN ALSO DO AND THE SWORD CAN'T."

"You're the best, Freckles!"

Tucker sighed, his teammate completely lost in gushing over his talking gun again.

Felix and Locus stared at one another before Felix whistled appreciatively and shook his head in mild disbelief, "I bet you guys have _a lot_ of interesting stories to tell."

He scoffed, "Dude, you have _no_ fucking clue."

Without waiting for further conversation, Tucker moved past Felix and held the energy blade up to the door. He could tell Carolina was getting impatient even without looking over at her, that she didn't like the focus on the sword or on their group in general from the mercenaries. She was practically drilling holes into Tucker's back with her " _quite showing off and just get it over with_ " vibe.

A strange symbol suddenly flared to life on the metallic surface, the sealed door disappearing as if it had never been there in the first place, revealing a small room behind.

"It acts as a key?" Locus asked, his filtered voice _still_ something that Tucker wasn't quite used to yet.

He nodded, "Yeah, it can open pretty much any of these ruins without any problem."

"Fascinating."

This was probably the most interested Locus had ever been in conversing with them.

"Freaked me the hell out the first time it happened." Tucker let out a nostalgic laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of his helmet, "But, it's definitely come in handy since."

"I'll bet." If he hadn't had his helmet on, Tucker would swear that Felix was probably drooling at the sword he was still gripping tightly.

"Let's move." Carolina pushed past him just then, Grif following after with the storage bag they'd brought, "You can show off more later, Tucker."

He sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with her. Particularly from any health stance one could think of. He holstered the sword, the energy vanishing the moment he removed his fingertips from the hilt.

The room that had been hidden from prying eyes for who knows how long seemed positively underwhelming given the effort it had taken to open it. The only thing of note that they found were eight canisters of what they now knew contained some kind of stored energy, each the size of Tucker's forearm.

The rest of the space was completely bare save a few pieces of scrap that _maybe_ could be used for repairs, or components for larger projects or something else along those lines back home.

As Tucker and Grif put the canisters into the bag, Felix commented: "Seems like a whole lot of trouble for so little payback."

For the first time since they'd met, Carolina's response to him wasn't a biting one, "We already figured that this would be the case given how small it was and our experiences with similar ruins in the area."

"Yeah," Grif added, as both he and Tucker were pretty knowledgeable on the subject by now, "There's usually a shitload of more high-functioning tech left only in larger sites."

"Which are always more remote and a whole fucking lot further away." Tucker chimed in.

He called Caboose over as Grif peered at the canisters once more before zipping the bag back up.

"The energy units are still good finds though." The tan man stated, noting that the light had still been blinking on the containers.

"So, I take it this is some of the stuff that is used to power all of the tech advancements in Chorus?" Felix asked, watching as the older men helped to get the backpack onto Caboose's armored back while the blond didn't even seem to notice the extra weight as he happily hoisted both himself and their finds up, "Which is why you guys make these types of runs fairly regularly?"

"Well, partially." Tucker couldn't help but boast again when given the chance to do so, "It's a combination of that and some pretty fucking awesome ingenuity—!"

He cut himself off at the warning look that Carolina suddenly shot him, a clear indication that he needed to remain silent on that subject for the moment. The gesture was not lost on the mercenaries, though they didn't bring it up.

Felix clapped his hands together instead, "Well, I guess that's our cue to leave then?"

At the sudden renewed distrust from Carolina and the uneasy tenseness that added to the room, Tucker couldn't agree more to the suggestion. Besides, he couldn't wait to get back to Junior, and probably brag to Wash about how fucking badass he got to be too if he could find him. Hopefully he wouldn't be quite as on edge as Carolina was currently, but knowing the other man as well as he did by now Tucker wouldn't doubt it.

They finished up gathering the few pieces of scrap lying around that seemed like it could be usable in one form or another, adding it to Caboose's backpack before getting ready to leave.

"It's fortunate that Chorus has so many of these sites close by." Felix commented as they stepped out of the ruins, "Given how rare these alien relics tend to be."

Tucker didn't even _need_ to look at Carolina this time to know not to respond to that. After all, he wanted to get back home in one piece still if he could.

* * *

They went a different route on their way back to Chorus than they had gone getting to the coordinates. It was standard procedure to always do so, just on the off-chance that someone unsavory had been trailing you.

Grif didn't mind so much, though this trek back meant they were walking more through the forest, which was decidedly more effort than walking through the dead zone would be. He could practically hear Simmons in his mind scoff and call him a lazy fat-ass for that.

That, oddly enough, had him wanting to walk a bit faster than usual. He still needed to apologize to the nerd, to make things right on that account at least.

He was so preoccupied with his desire to see Simmons again and get his apology over with, and make sure the damn kiss-ass actually ate and rested for once, that he nearly ran into Carolina when she stopped suddenly ahead of him.

"Wait." Her cyan-armored hand was held out to halt the group, her other already removing one of her guns from its holster as she motioned to what was ahead of them.

They had happened upon the remains of a derelict building, a larger one gutted by flames. Given how it was still partially standing, it was probably one of the last ones that had been built in the area before people gave up living here entirely.

"Caboose, stay here." She ordered in a voice that would broker no arguments, signaling to the rest of them to continue moving forward.

Since Caboose had the supplies, it was best to keep him out of harm's way. Enough of the structure was still intact that someone could very well hide in there. Besides, since the younger soldier had Freckles with him, it was actually smarter to have him be farther out from a potential guard stance as well.

The blond would be well-protected no matter what might happen in the next few seconds, and could hopefully help provide cover for them too if they had to make a hasty retreat back to where he was depending on what they found.

The other five moved forward to investigate, weapons now at the ready with all of them. At a silent gesture from Carolina, Felix and Locus took up spots by the sides of the building, leaving the other three to go inside.

The sight inside wasn't any prettier than it had been from the outside. Especially when, from the sight of the crumbling remains of furniture and decoration that could be barely made out still, the realization sank in that this had been someone's _home_ at some point.

Fortunately, they couldn't tell due to the damage and time that had passed since then if there were any bodies there buried beneath the rubble.

A shovel caught Tucker's eyes in one pile, "Looks like they were farmers who got caught up in one of the blasts here." He noted, his voice serious.

"Probably just a few years before the ceasefire, from the looks of things here." Carolina remarked quietly.

Grif said nothing, having to choke back a bit of bile at the thought.

They inspected the remains of the house carefully, finding a few salvageable items that could probably help with horticulture projects in the city. But, there wasn't a ton of usable things left there, and no one understandably wanted to stay too long.

As they carefully moved back to the exit where Felix and Locus were still standing guard, something caught the corner of Grif's eye. A black and white dog plush toy was poking up from a pile of rubble by the doorway.

It had somehow survived the blast with only moderate damage, stuffing poking through open tears in its body, the entire thing covered with dirt and soot. A familiar, odd urge took over then that Grif really didn't want to contemplate too much. He bent down and snatched the toy up on the sudden impulse.

Tucker looks over his shoulder at the plush after seeing him do so, "It's sad that kids were out here." He stated in a dry voice, and Grif had no doubt that his friend was thinking of Junior just then.

Grif thought of Kai and could only nod his head in response to Tucker's commentary, his voice completely caught in his throat. He was unable to keep himself from pocketing the toy in one of the storage areas of his armor. Tucker said nothing to that, though it was obvious he saw Grif doing so since he was standing right next to him, clapping the orange-armored soldier on the shoulder sympathetically.

For once, the dark-skinned man didn't tease him for doing a bizarre action and he didn't ask any prying questions given the somber mood settling over everything just then. Carolina nodded at them both in quiet understanding as they left the house to rejoin Caboose.

The blond seemed to have picked up on the undercurrent of sadness that was piercing the moment, and he remained pensively quiet as they moved past the decimated farmland, clutching Freckles even more tightly to his chest than usual. It was always harder for Caboose to deal with the direct knowledge of people being hurt or dying when he came face-to-face with it.

"You guarded point rather well." Carolina remarked to both Locus and Felix once they were quite a bit farther away from the house, "You both helped us get things done more quickly on this assignment."

It was still pretty obvious that she didn't like them being around all the same, but that was at least a starting gesture from the Freelancer.

Felix nodded gratefully at the comment, "You see?" He told her, attempting to help alleviate a bit of the heavy mood that was still wrapped around them from before, "This could yet be the start of a great, mutually beneficial relationship for all of us."

Whatever else was said around him following that as they made their way back to Chorus was lost to Grif's ears. His mind kept going back to the burnt out farmhouse, the puppy plush both seeming to burn a hole through his armor and weigh a thousand tons all at once.

He wanted, no, he _needed_ desperately just then to be home that very moment.

He _needed_ Simmons.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** …Something tells me Carolina is probably going to be having a big huge "I told you so!" moment at some point later on in this story. XD

This chapter helped me get a bit back into this fic following putting it on the backburner to finish up _Above Ground_. I had a ton of fun introducing Caboose and Freckles finally into the story properly, as well as world and backstory-building more for characters. Yep, some of the past references I made in this one, as was the case for a few in the first chapter, might just show up as prequel shorts later on down the road! :D

I tried to keep parts of the chapter light, but it definitely goes in a bit of a more emotional direction later on. I hope I handled that well.

Next chapter will have some appearances from more familiar faces, along with quite a few relationship moments too! Hopefully I will do them all justice. :)

Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you liked the second chapter! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Three:

Washington sighed, wondering whether or not he should have agreed as readily as he had to Carolina's " _no argument whatsoever_ " declaration that he be the one to continue the training regimen they had set up for the newer recruits.

He honestly understood why the redhead had been so emphatic. With her former Freelancer teammate watching the rookies, she could go out on the field with the recovery team to closely monitor the two leaders of the mercenary band that had come to pay Chorus a visit.

The blond knew, logically speaking, that at least one out of the two of them should remain within the walls of Chorus, simply in case the rest of the mercenaries tried something malicious or acted suspiciously.

He also knew that Carolina wasn't as comfortable with leading the training missions herself either, that her past experiences with doing so had led her to believe that Wash ultimately had more patience for that type of job. At least when it came to forgiving mistakes and advice-giving.

Though, truth be told, it wasn't as if either of them would _ever_ probably be called " _great_ " at it.

Washington was far from what one might call a " _people person._ " The same could be said for the former leader of the Freelancers, though he had been trying his hardest to work at that particular flaw of his, just as he knew that Carolina was attempting to do so. Naturally, on her own terms. Of course.

They had both been through and lost so much, and they were just now starting to begin again with the oddball family that had taken them months ( _years_ , actually) to fully trust. That familial unit was always evolving and, slowly but surely, growing to include some extended members from amongst the general population of Chorus too. Especially now that all of them were trying to make the place their home.

It was a constant, slow process with always shifting dynamics. One that had helped Washington become a bit more patient and understanding with every passing moment.

But, there were definitely some instances that tried his patience _a lot_ more than others. Not being able to go with the recovery team had been one of those instances, and the way that this particular training session was progressing as the day wore on was definitely another.

"If you think about it, shooting a few meters _away_ from a target in the hopes that they'll walk into it a second later _sort-of_ makes sense." Washington heard a cheerful voice explain in a ridiculously sage-like manner despite their rather faulty logic.

"I am really not so sure about that." Another deeper and more mature-sounding voice remarked into the uneasy and awkward silence that had befallen the group of sand-armored soldiers.

"No, it fucking doesn't!" An angry, exasperated groan pierced the air not a moment later as the orange-trimmed male turned his head to glare at the young man who had started the whole topic, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."

Wash sighed again, feeling as though the proof for his earlier thought on instances that tried his patience was being clearly presented to him as he witnessed the interaction amongst the rookies continue to play out.

He reminded himself that he had been the one who had given them a break, had wanted to encourage them to have group discussions with each other. The blond fought the urge to step into the exhaustive fray once more, knowing that he shouldn't interrupt until it was time to get back to training. Unless, of course, things really got out of hand.

This particular group of newer recruits had certainly proven themselves to be a handful since he had begun helping with their training months ago and, as he had an apparent knack for dealing with " _handful_ " situations, he would certainly be able to accurately describe said moments.

The " _handful_ " term could easily describe just about everyone he socialized with now after all, as well as quite a few faces from his past that he tried not to dwell too much on anymore for emotional reasons.

Charles Palomo's friendly disposition didn't diminish in the slightest at the biting remark he had just received. Then again, the kid with the aqua trim on his armor had heard it so many times by this point that he was probably an expert at tuning it out as his grin only grew wider, "Hey! I'm just saying, I could have just come up with a genius new strategy!"

The dark-skinned youth was the only soldier of the rookie group who was actually native to Chorus. He had no family to speak of, as he was the only survivor of a batch of genetically engineered people who hadn't been created to fight in the war, but rather to help get materials and equipment for it instead as " _supply-runners_ " of sorts. Essentially, they were people who went from region to region transporting goods back and forth.

Palomo's history showcased how Chorus had been a small region that hadn't really had the resources or tech necessary to design and train genetically engineered humans more tailor-made specifically for fighting battles. Those batches, such as Wash's own, usually came from very well-off and enormous regions with a lot of resources readily available right away.

In other areas of the world during the fighting, Washington had often heard those created for the task of supply-running being described with the less flattering term of " _moving targets_ " since the shooting never really stopped for them. This was especially truthful in combat, since taking out supply-runners usually meant not allowing goods to fall to the opposing side.

Fortunately for young Palomo, the practice of using supply-runners as human shields for cargo dispensing had been made illegal. It was still an option for them, but they were awarded with actual compensation if they survived around the time when the Chorus native would have been deemed old enough to help escort supplies. Wash really didn't want to dwell too much on how the " _old enough_ " bar had been set for them at fourteen back then.

Interestingly enough, one of the only other surviving members of that particular subset of genetically engineered humans in Chorus was now helping to actually run the region. Evidently, Vanessa Kimball's actions as one of the leaders of Chorus had quite the inspiring effect on the younger Palomo. At least enough of one that he had even decided to enlist to help Chorus too despite having no obligation to do so anymore.

But, while the lad's heart was so often in the right place, it seemed to take quite a while for the rest of him to catch up with it. He could definitely cause a lot of exasperation given that, not unlike a certain teal-wearing soldier that Palomo idolized almost as much as he did Kimball these days, much to Tucker's continued chagrin.

Another sigh emitted from the group, "It really isn't a genius strategy at all, Palomo."

The blond-haired girl with the pink armor trim who had spoken up just then had a thoughtful frown on her face, arms crossed defensively over her chest plate. She was the recruit that Wash arguably knew the least about, though he couldn't really say whether that was because she didn't have much information to give, was too guarded to speak about her past, or just didn't see the point or need to divulge much.

Her name was simply Volleyball, and usually any introduction of hers was followed with a joke about how she had just really liked the sport after playing it once. Like Palomo, she was another genetically engineered human, though her case was evidently closer to Washington's own origins in that she had been created for combat as a soldier somewhere in one of the massive city-regions.

She seemed somewhat competent with weaponry and drills, so Wash suspected that not only did she have the natural predisposition all soldier artificially created humans had, but that she had at least been trained in a facility for a while. Whether she had ever seen any frontline action before the ceasefire had been announced wasn't at all clear.

All Wash knew about her beyond that was that, at some point in her past, Volleyball had met and bonded with two other young souls who had been thrust into the conflicts for various reasons of their own. The three of them had even made their way to Chorus together.

"If it does somehow end up working once, remember that a broken clock's got to still be right twice a day." The tan girl with braces and maroon trim on her armor standing next to Volleyball added into the conversation, a heavy slur to her voice.

Katie Jensen was one of the members of Volleyball's adopted family. She'd been a young child, probably only a bit older than Junior was now, when she had been orphaned. Somehow, a cleverness with tech had helped to keep her alive despite the danger being a lone little kid in the conflict often meant facing.

Eventually Jensen met a boy who was in a rather similar situation to her own. The two decided to stick together and watch each other's backs given their situation, becoming a family of sorts to help overcome the loss of their previous ones.

Given how they had just been two youths alone, it was probably only natural that they had gotten into some trouble later on down the road. Volleyball somehow played a role in helping them out of it, and they ended up becoming a trio after that. The three made their way surprisingly safely to Chorus a bit later.

Jensen was certainly intelligent and talented when it came to machinery, but Wash _still_ had fucking nightmares about his " _How bad could she possibly be?_ " attempts at teaching her how to drive. Simmons had actually warned him against doing so, and he had suspected Lopez had as well since the two had apparently already tried teaching her after she'd asked them for help once. The new scar he now sported on his arm was an indication he probably should have listened to them.

"W—wouldn't it just be better to aim at the target directly?" The auburn-haired young man with glasses who spoke up near Jensen was simply known as Matthews.

What his first name was, Wash couldn't really say. The yellow-trimmed lieutenant always clammed up when that subject came up. He was the third member of the family trio: a shy, awkward sort of kid who had even more odd hero-worshipping tendencies than Palomo did, much to Grif's chagrin. The lazy orange-armored soldier often described Matthews as a "kiss-ass" or "suck up" due to his earnest and misguided attempts at gaining approval from him.

Given how much the three had come to care for and trust one another, which was always constantly on display in their interactions both during training and outside of it, Wash supposed it hadn't really been much of a shock that, when Volleyball had expressed her interest in defending their new home, the other two had decided to join her.

"That _does_ seem to be the most practical approach, yes." The much older lieutenant in their midst with dark hair and blue eyes the same color as his armor trim added in quietly. His response made sense considering he was the one who had tried politely questioning Palomo on this very subject earlier when the other rookie had started enthusiastically talking about it

John Elizabeth Andersmith was probably just a few years younger than Wash. Evidently he had tried as best he could during the war to avoid fighting and kept to jobs to help sustain his home region more. So, as a new recruit who had little to no actual military experience before coming to Chorus, he had been placed into the group of younger soldiers still in training.

Why would an older civilian decide to go on this path _now_ of all times, when there was at least a sort-of sense of uneasy peace in the world despite all of the uncertainty and black market activities cropping up as people started to rebuild? That was a question Wash had the distinct impression was probably far too personal to just ask someone out of the blue, so he never pried into Andersmith's reasoning.

The oldest rookie was a pleasant enough fellow and all-around capable soldier. That was more important to the Freelancer in the long run. Besides, the former Freelancer was far too surprised and more than just a tad alarmed by Andersmith's idolization of _Caboose_ of all people to even want to broach that equally perplexing topic of discussion anytime soon.

Seriously, that particular case of admiration made both Palomo's and Matthews' hero worships of Tucker and Grif seem perfectly normal by comparison.

"I can't believe you'd even attempt to discuss this bullshit more." An angry, snarling voice bit out.

That voice belonged to Antoine Bitters, a lieutenant with orange-trimmed armor and oddly multi-colored hair. Evidently, Palomo had tried pranking him with hair dye or something instead of shampoo. The whole thing had resulted in Bitters trying to throttle him.

To put it bluntly, Bitters was a young man who was often mad about things in general, and who generally had very little patience given that for the shenanigans of more cheerful minds like Palomo's. In a way, he was almost what Wash pictured a teenaged Church must have been like. Which was more than just a little frightening _and_ exasperating to think on.

Not that he could necessarily blame Church for his anger in the slightest given what the cybernetically enhanced individual had gone through. Likewise, he couldn't necessarily blame Bitters for his own outlook either. After all, Bitters came from a batch that had been created specifically for a mercenary cell during the war.

Soldier genetically engineered humans weren't treated too greatly in general, but what Wash had experienced growing up he knew had probably been leagues better when compared to what Bitters' childhood must have been like. Mercenary units often viewed their batches as disposable commodities even more than the regions who created soldier batches did.

While preference had always been given to naturally born soldiers compared to genetically engineered ones, since it cost a whole lot of time and money to get genetically engineered soldiers ready for combat, regions weren't exactly eager to lose a great many of them in constant waves if there were ways around it while the people in Bitters' situation were walking " _cannon fodder_ " that mercenaries expected to also serve in active combat roles until they dropped.

Training for them often amounted to little more than putting a weapon into far too young of hands and _hopefully_ the person those hands belonged to would survive until the next battle. Wash had heard horror stories before of their ages ranging even younger than the fourteen minimum age requirement for supply-runners.

Given that, it was no wonder that Bitters wasn't one of the more patient new recruits, nor why he seemed to still be having a hard time in general adjusting to the very different way of life he had found waiting for him in Chorus.

Bitters turned to glare at Palomo, "How you don't know _any_ of this shit already despite being what you are is beyond me."

" _Ouch._ " Palomo winced, rubbing the back of his head and smiling sheepishly in response, "Probably deserved that though?"

"Not really." Volleyball hissed under her breath, an expression of utter annoyance plastered on her features. She looked as if she was going to say more on the subject, but Bitters had already turned his attention to two of the others as he continued addressing Palomo.

"You're somehow even worse than these ones." He tilted his dyed head in both Jensen's and Matthews' directions. If Palomo was a source of ire for the young man due to not being what one often expected for genetically engineered specimens, then Matthews and Jensen also sometimes received it for being around his age too but _normal_ , "And that's saying something."

"Hey!" Volleyball was snarling herself, getting directly into Bitters' face now that he had dragged more people into his rant, "What the hell is your problem?"

Palomo, Matthews, and Jensen glanced at one another, a mix of expressions on their faces ranging from partially apologetic to slightly concerned that the other two may have gotten hurt by the commentary. There was a nervousness in the air again.

It was far from the first time that the two genetically engineered "soldiers" in their midst had almost come to blows when interacting with one another.

Volleyball was protective of her friends and had no tolerance for what she felt counted as bullying or badgering, especially towards any of the ones who were a little younger than her. Which, in this case, happened to be all three of Bitters' targets.

"Right now? It's being here where no one is taking anything fucking seriously!" Bitters shot back.

"Like you've even attempted doing anything!" The blonde's retort was immediate, her fists clenching together tightly.

"All right," Andersmith, at a shared nod from the others, pushed his way in-between the two arguing lieutenants, using his massive frame to keep them at bay, "It's time for all of us to calm down."

They looked ready to just continue their yelling at one another _over_ poor Andersmith. Wash sighed, recognizing the obvious signs of a confrontation brewing once again that wasn't going to get resolved by itself.

It was probably for the best to end their break early then, maybe even give _one of them_ in particular a few more drills in order to give him time to think things over. The blond took in a breath to step into the fray himself when the door to the training area suddenly opened behind him.

"What's up, bitches?" An all-too familiar voice called out, "Hey! Who the fuck said you guys could have all the fun without me?"

"Oh, fuck no." Wash couldn't help but moan at Kaikaina Grif's far too timely entrance.

Grif's little sister walked past him as though he were invisible, heading straight for the small group of lieutenants with an annoyed look plastered across her tan features. She stopped just a couple meters away from them, crossing her arms over her yellow chest plate and tapping her feet impatiently on the ground as she waited for some kind of commentary to what she had just said.

If Wash didn't know any better, he would have sworn that she had done so on purpose just to distract everyone from the anger that had been flowing between her fellow genetically engineered comrades just then.

It certainly did that trick regardless, as Bitters let out an annoyed " _Tch!_ " sound under his breath before angrily looking away from everyone. The still obviously agitated Volleyball glared at him a split-second more before looking over at Kaikaina apologetically.

"Sorry, Kai. I know how much you love to party." She told the other girl, her usually friendly demeanor taking over once more.

"Yeah, it's the best!" Kaikaina grinned, "So is ass-kicking too _if_ someone really deserves it."

She was looking pointedly at Bitters just then, the young man rolling his eyes and muttering a half-hearted " _Whatever._ " under his breath at the threat behind her words.

With the situation properly diffused and his annoyance apparently deflated as a result, Bitters pushed past Andersmith and Matthews to sit grumpily by himself against the wall behind them while not looking directly at anyone as he did so, lost in his own thoughts.

Andersmith sighed sadly and shook his head, the perplexed look on his face no doubt meaning that he was seriously contemplating what he thought Caboose might do in that situation. Yes, Wash had seen that very look _just_ seconds before he had overheard Andersmith asking the blue-armored soldier for advice. Then the older lieutenant turned to check on the others.

Jensen and Palomo were already paying more attention to Kaikaina given her sudden entry, though Matthews glanced back over his shoulder at the sulking young man with a still nervous and almost sad look in his eyes.

The look dissipated when Jensen, concerned that maybe Matthews was still upset by what had happened earlier, touched her adopted brother's shoulder gently. He smiled at her weakly in reassurance, allowing both herself and Palomo to drag him over to the others.

"He'll adjust sooner or later." A new voice remarked from behind Wash as he was standing there contemplating how to best approach Bitters, "It just takes some people a bit longer than others."

The voice belonged to a woman with slightly curly black hair cut just below her ears, one who was wearing the purple trim on her armor that was customary of medical officers usually. It appeared as though she had observed quite a bit of the previous altercation before deciding to make her presence known.

Which made sense, he supposed, since Bones was currently training Kaikaina. He had a feeling the medic lieutenant had also been doing the same before loudly exclaiming herself to be there.

He sighed, knowing from his own experiences just how true her statement was, "I just hope it's _before_ one of them kills him though."

She grinned mischievously, "Well, at least Kai's on a pretty good track to help mend him if that happens."

He raised a blond eyebrow, "Even if she's one of the ones most likely to beat him to a pulp?"

Like Volleyball, Kaikaina was insanely protective of her friends. Wash still remembered when she, as a teenager, had tried shooting him. Granted, it was because when they'd first met she had thought that he had been the one to hurt Tucker when he had brought both him and Junior back to their group, and she had been afraid that he might possibly do the same to her brother and his other teammates.

Bones smiled, "That's one of those perks they don't always tell you about being a medic."

He had a feeling that Doc would probably disagree with her on that front given his pacifist leanings in general, but he had the sudden thought of her and Doctor Grey working on patients together and couldn't help but shudder a little.

"Still—" Wash began before getting interrupted.

"Hey!" He looked up to see Kaikaina glowering at him from across the large training space, "You better not be talking bad about me, cop!"

He couldn't help but groan, "Kai, we've known each other for _how_ long now?" The former Freelancer asked exasperatedly, "For the last time, I am _not_ a cop!"

"That's _exactly_ what a cop would say to throw someone off their trail." She remarked stubbornly, her glare only intensifying as she added, " _Cop_."

"Oh, for the love of—!" The blond sighed, shaking his head as he remembered exactly why the younger Grif sibling had started this up again, "Those handcuffs were a joke of Tucker's, Kai. A _bad_ one."

"Hey, how you guys spend your time together is none of my business." She shrugged indifferently at his remark, "Unless you record it. In which case, I'll pay to see it."

"Yeah, yeah..." It took a moment for the utter absurdness of her remark to fully sink into Wash's brain, "Wait, _what_?"

There was a loud, practically deafening silence in the room just then as the conversations suddenly screeched to a halt and all eyes were on him the second the handcuffs were mentioned. He felt his cheeks turning red as he pondered just how much credibility as a capable soldier and instructor he had just lost from this bizarre argument with Kaikaina Grif, and how many drills he'd have to order everyone to do in order to get even an ounce of it back.

"Please kill me." He lowered his head, resisting the urge to grab at it with his hands through a monumental display of inner willpower.

Bones patted his shoulder in friendly sympathy, "Leave it to me." She informed him, tilting her head slightly in the direction of her pupil as she did so, "I've dealt with enough of Kai's commentaries by now to know how to divert attention from them quickly."

"I'd owe you." He mumbled appreciatively.

"Tell me the story behind those handcuffs of Tucker's one day and we'll call it even." She joked good-naturedly before making her way over to her trainee and the young woman's friends.

"Handcuffs?"

If there was any remote chance in his life for the ground to somehow split open and swallow him whole, Wash would have very much appreciated if it could happen now. He sighed, unable to even look over at what was probably the very questioning glance that Vanessa Kimball was no doubt casting his way from where she stood at his side, "Pretend you didn't hear that."

When he had finally gotten the nerve to do so, he looked over to see one of the leaders of Chorus smiling slightly with amusement glinting in her brown eyes at his expense, "Fair enough."

The former Freelancer let out a grateful exhale, regarding the woman he had come to respect not only as a soldier in her own right and as a leader, but also as something of a friend. She was looking thoughtfully at Bones as she conversed with most of the lieutenants, "I'll ask Bones about Kaikaina's progress later, but how has training been going for your group?"

Wash sighed yet again, "It was fine up until the last five minutes of their break."

When she shot him a questioning glance, he tilted his head over towards where Bitters was still off in his own little world sulking against the wall.

"Lieutenant Bitters is still having issues with communicating efficiently with his teammates." He reported.

This wasn't new information to Kimball as it was a topic that had come up with quite a bit of frequency ever since Bitters had come to Chorus. She nodded in understanding, her expression turning serious as she mulled over his words, "We'll have to figure out what to do about that soon."

Washington couldn't help but nod in agreement before noticing the data pad that Kimball was holding close to her side. She wasn't in her sand-colored armor with its ice trimming, but in her favorite civilian clothes of choice: brown slacks with an ice-blue colored shirt. Evidently, most people seemed to have a preference for their everyday clothing to somewhat match their armor if they wore it. Now that he thought about it, most of his clothing were shades of gray that could be associated with steel or had some kind of variation of yellow in them too.

He knew the dark-skinned woman well enough by now to know that her lack of armor was by no means an indication that she hadn't been constantly working up until the point she had decided to get training updates. Kimball was almost as bad of a workaholic as someone like Simmons or even Carolina was.

"I take it you've assigned our _other_ new recruits their first tasks, then?" He asked her, referring to the mercenaries who had shown up at Chorus only recently.

"Just finished up about two hours ago." Kimball informed him, nodding her head slightly. Her long, curly black hair was pulled back into a low hanging ponytail.

Wash frowned in slight worry, the expression and the meaning behind it not at all lost on Kimball.

She smiled slightly, a knowing look crossing over her features, "You can check over everything, if you want." She told him before a frown replaced her smile, "I know that you and Carolina are concerned. It's not as if I'm not either, believe me."

He couldn't help but deepen his frown slightly at the admission, though it made sense given how Kimball's priority was the safety of the city, "Then why…?"

"Did I agree to let them stay?" She finished for him, a look of resignation taking hold over her face as she answered, "Because Chorus needs all of the assistance it can get." She sighed, her gaze once more going to the small group in the training room, "We're not exactly in a position where we can turn people away if we don't have any evidence that they're actually up to something."

He more than understood that reasoning. Chorus had grown as much as it had already for having a more welcoming disposition towards outsiders, after all. Fuck, his own group of friends wouldn't have even come here if that hadn't been the case, though it still made for a frustrating situation all the same.

From the look of barely concealed stress and doubt crossing over Kimball's features, he could tell that she felt similarly. Arguing it any further at this point would only add even more unnecessary stress to her overflowing glass of it.

He truly did not envy her role in making sure this region stayed afloat. Or Doyle's, as he was pretty sure the poor man was now visiting Doctor Grey regularly to get medication for ulcers.

At Kimball's earlier mention of Carolina, Wash's thoughts had drifted once again to the reclamation mission that she had gone on with the mercenary leaders. His thoughts went from her, to Grif, to Caboose, and then finally to Tucker. The former Freelancer couldn't help but sigh again.

"Have we heard from the salvage mission yet?" He asked quietly.

She nodded, "They should be on their way back now."

Wash relaxed a bit at the news, some of the worry drifting from his shoulders just then. Hopefully that meant they would be safe within the city walls before it got too dark outside. He'd feel even better once he was able to start his own observations on the mercenaries.

"I still wish I could have gone with them." He admitted under his breath.

A brief flicker of understanding crossed over Kimball's face before it was replaced with mild amusement once more, "Ah, but who else would have trained the lieutenants today then?" She asked coyly, "Particularly since this group has proved a bit trying for everyone else."

He couldn't necessarily argue with the fact that training was absolutely vital for the continued security of Chorus, but _still_!

"I can take over from here for today though, since they're close to being dismissed." Kimball noted before he could even voice his thoughts out loud again, and there was definitely a conspiratorial gleam in her brown eyes as she added, "Since I believe you have other matters you'd like to get to as soon as possible, Washington?"

She was granting him permission to start observing exactly what, if anything, the mercenaries might be up to in Chorus. He nodded silently, grateful for the opportunity to start doing so sooner rather than later.

Kimball almost seemed to be looking forward to the rare opportunity she had to play instructor again, a role she hadn't been able to take up for quite some time once she took over as one of the city's leaders. There was a smile in her eyes that even managed to cut through the lines of stress and worry that always seemed to be piling up on her.

At least until the door to the training center opened once more.

"Ah, Miss Kimball! There you are!" Donald Doyle exclaimed from behind them, "I was hoping to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency with you."

Kimball's expression immediately clouded over at the sound of his voice, and she swore under her breath in newfound annoyance. Whenever the two co-leaders discussed something concerning operations in Chorus, it often became a headache not only for the both of them, but also for anyone else within a good forty kilometer radius.

Wash was mildly amused at how quickly volatile Kimball became in Doyle's presence, and how vice-versa that was for the uptight but usually mild-mannered man too. Still, he knew that Doyle's timing was a good cue for him to take his leave, as he did not really want to get involved or caught up in yet another never-ending debate and shouting match between the two leaders.

* * *

Wash used the free time that Kimball had given him rather efficiently. After acquiring the list of assignments that their new friends had been given around the city, the blond spent a good while observing the various men and women in steel armor at work.

The moment they stepped away from a task, he was there to check over what they had done to see if things were still functioning properly and that nothing else in the area had been tampered with. Just to be safe, he also checked on the general " _higher risk_ " spots around Chorus too.

He was always thorough when it came to security matters. Tucker and some of the others would probably jokingly refer to him as being more " _paranoid_ " than anything else, but that attention to detail had previously helped all of them out. More than once, the former Freelancer would often like to add.

Of course, all that efficiency seemed a bit unnecessary when he wasn't able to turn up anything out of the ordinary whatsoever. The mercenaries seemed to be adjusting to life in Chorus rather well already, working diligently with the residents and tackling their assigned duties with aplomb.

Which wasn't a bad thing at all. Quite the opposite, really, since they could always use extra assistance. But, even seeing that with his own eyes didn't help put Wash's mind at ease for some reason.

He could practically picture Tucker mouthing the word " _Paranoid._ " at him just then and he had to push the mental image from his mind with a grimace. As much as he would love to just take the mercenary leaders' words at face value, he just wasn't completely ready to potentially gamble with everyone's lives here at Chorus.

It was possible that his assessments so far were right and there was nothing going on. But, it was also just as likely that, as just one person doing perfunctory examinations at best currently, he may have overlooked things. Especially since they were dealing with professionals who were more than likely experts at concealment.

He had no doubt that Carolina would want to go over Chorus with a fine-toothed comb just to be on the safe side later on still. It might not even be a bad idea to have some of the others help out with that too. He was fairly certain there were quite a few different types of scanning equipment at the warehouse as well that Sarge wouldn't mind getting the chance to finally try out.

"Wash, _hey_! Wash!"

A familiar voice was calling out to him from across the street. Washington blinked, his thoughts completely shutting down as his brain processed Franklin Delano Donut's cheery and sing-song voice, "I almost thought you hadn't seen us!"

Truthfully, he actually _hadn't_ given how lost the former Freelancer had been in his own mulling contemplations.

He had no idea that his feet had carried him so close to the warehouse where the Reds and Blues, as they had decided to call themselves following the war as some odd bit of humor on Sarge's part, often worked when they didn't have duties elsewhere around Chorus.

Hell, they even spent a good portion of their free time at the site. The blond often found himself doing the same whenever Wash was left to his own meanderings, now that he thought about it. The place could be chaotic and its occupants often frustrating, but there was something comforting and oddly _warm_ about being in their presence all the same. Especially when he started to feel overwhelmed.

Wash walked over at Donut's exclamation, giving a terse nod back in way of greeting. There was a small group of his comrades, and deep down he knew the word to use for them was _friends_ , hanging around outside of the building as the sky began to darken.

From the looks of it, Donut and Doc had been calling it a day from work. The purple medic was standing next to his friend with a little more of a bounce to his step than usual, which Wash had long since figured out meant that he would be in Donut's company somewhere instead of getting shot at.

Lopez was outside as well, and he gave a quick nod of his head at the Freelancer before quickly turning and walking back inside the warehouse. That didn't surprise Wash too much. Lopez wasn't exactly prone to conversation given how most people couldn't understand him. Besides, both he and Sheila actually lived at the warehouse.

It made Sarge feel better in the rare instances when he wasn't there to have " _sentries,_ " and Wash suspected that the two Virtual Intelligences rather liked having a spot that was both quieter and private to recuperate in from the chaotic humans they had to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

The reasoning for Lopez having been outside made a bit more sense as well when Wash saw Junior standing next to his grinning father. The boy had probably been eager to drag one of his favorite " _babysitters_ " out with him when he was being reunited with his parent after Tucker's return. Lopez, surprisingly tolerant of the youth despite often being exasperated by everyone else save Sheila, had probably obliged.

Junior's face lit up once again at Wash's presence, the expression outshining even the mysterious glowing marks on his face. The boy promptly disengaged from the death-grip he'd had on Tucker's hand to hug the former Freelancer.

Wash had to fight to keep his balance momentarily due to the sudden tackling pressure around his knees, but he returned the gesture without an ounce of self-consciousness.

"Man, and here I thought I got the best welcome back." Tucker jokingly griped at the sight, though there was only warmth in the expression that crossed over his face while he watched his son hugging Wash.

"Well, if you consider that Junior hasn't seen Wash all day…" Doc began gently.

"I know, I know." Tucker rolled his brown eyes in mock exasperation as he cut the medic's soothing commentary off, "The guy you see all the time is just chopped liver."

Junior glanced over at his father then before looking up at Wash, a question looming in his blue eyes. Wash couldn't help but nod his head slightly and smile down at him in encouragement. With another grin splitting his face, Junior unwrapped his arms from around Wash and ran the three steps back to his parent, once again grasping onto his hand tightly.

"Thanks for the pity, son." Tucker teased in a fond tone as he playfully rubbed the top of Junior's head. There were even tears building in his eyes at the sudden display of affection that Wash knew the dark-skinned man would vehemently deny if someone chose to bring them up later.

"So, did you guys just get back from the mission?"

As oddly tempted as he was to tease the younger soldier, Wash decided it was best to focus on business first.

"Yeah," Tucker nodded his head, "You just missed us handing over the tech."

"Oh, and talking more with Locus and Felix!" Donut added in a second later, smiling naively, "They're a pair, huh?"

"Yeah, they're something, Donut." Wash stated noncommittally.

Tucker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. No doubt he was already well-aware of the concerns both Carolina and Wash had over the mercenaries. But, since Tucker knew that the blond was probably trying to avoid worrying either Doc or Donut just yet, he chose to not remark on his choice of words. Wash was immensely grateful for that.

"Caboose and Sheila were helping Sarge put away some of the stuff that was brought back." Doc informed him, "Both Simmons and Doctor Grey are working on other things too."

No doubt Lopez would be helping with the salvage tech now that Junior wasn't wandering around his workbench. Though the Spanish-speaker would also often spend a lot of his time simply following Caboose around with a fire extinguisher whenever the blue-armored man was anywhere remotely close to machinery in the warehouse too. It was a task the robot had started up years ago as a survival mechanism that had no doubt saved a lot of lives and cut down on repair bills too.

"You just missed Grif! He was going to go get something to eat." Donut added in.

"Probably a whole lot of somethings." Tucker couldn't help but joke.

"He certainly is lively when it comes to food, huh?" Doc remarked with a laugh.

Tucker snorted, "It's the _only_ thing he gets lively for." Though not a second later he amended his statement in a lower decibel, "Save for maybe one pasty-ass nerd."

Wash decided to move the conversation to a different topic before both Tucker and Donut had the chance to talk more about potential matchmaking scenarios they should test out to finally help get Grif and Simmons together.

They'd tried several already. The last one that Wash knew of had involved stealing clothes, a large jar of bacon grease, and a locked shower. Simmons wasn't able to even _look_ at any of them after Sarge had been the one to accidentally open the door to said shower and saw the two of them. Hell, Grif had run the most that Wash had ever seen him run trying to throttle both of their " _helpful_ " teammates.

Yeah, he could only deal with one thing at a time. So, it really was best to steer the conversation away from that subject before a new crisis reared its head.

"Where's Carolina?" He asked, noting that two of the people in their group had been unaccounted for so far. It wouldn't shock him if she'd slipped away to trail the mercenaries once they had left the building.

"Oh, she apparently dragged Church off to give him an earful about something he did." Donut told him, looking thoughtful, "He really needs to just do himself a favor and beat off that excess anger one of these days."

"Bow—" Tucker began.

" _Don't_." Wash raised his hand to cut off Tucker's trademark comment before he had the chance to finish it.

"Maybe you should try beating some of your stress off too, Wash." Doc, completely oblivious to the innocent innuendo that Donut had just uttered, said in an attempt to try to be helpful since the Freelancer looked rather stressed.

"Yeah, Wash, why don't you?" Tucker looked as though he were about to faint from the monumental effort it took to keep from bursting out with laughter.

Wash would _almost_ be proud of him, if this conversation hadn't turned so swiftly in his general direction. He could feel his face heating up, and he sighed.

"I'm not even going to try responding to any of that." He stated simply, a headache now looming on the horizon.

Donut and Doc seemed completely unaware of what had happened. Junior just seemed confused by his reaction to the remark too, which Wash was also glad for. At least no one else had been there. That was something.

"Anyways, we were just heading out when I thought I saw you." Donut thankfully carried on a second later with a large smile on his face, "Talk about good timing! Want to hang out with Doc and me?"

Having accompanied Donut before on " _nights out on the town,_ " Wash knew he wouldn't have the strength or energy to keep up with the duo.

Besides, he cast a brief glance over at Doc the second that Donut had extended the invite. He saw a momentary flicker of disappointment cross over the brown-haired man's face before he covered it up with an accepting smile.

Wash had long since suspected that Doc had been nursing a bit of a crush on Donut that he just hadn't gotten the courage to admit yet, and that moment pretty much all but confirmed it in his mind. The blond knew that this was probably one of the few nights in some time when the two's time off had overlapped so well.

Wash smiled gratefully at Donut before shaking his head, "Thank you, but I was thinking of just getting something to eat and heading to bed."

A look of unconcealed relief flooded over Doc's features then, his smile widening a bit and becoming much more genuine and not forced.

Donut pretend pouted, "Aww, you're no fun! _But_ getting your beauty sleep is important too." He turned another bright smile onto Doc, "I guess that means there will be more excitement for us!"

"We'll have to have twice as much for everyone else then." Doc stated happily, clearly eager at the prospect.

He turned to Wash and the others then, "Remember, eating healthy is important too!"

Tucker scoffed at the advice, "Fuck that, Doc! Tonight's a junk food night!" He declared before looking down at the boy standing next to him, "Right, kiddo?"

Junior smiled and nodded his head before waving goodbye to the purple and pink duo as they took their leave, Donut practically _skipping_ in anticipation of the night that lay ahead of them with a perfectly contented-looking Doc at his side.

Tucker turned to Wash then, grinning, "I promised Junior that we'd get dinner together when I got back." He told him, "Since you said you were doing the same, wanna come with?"

The younger man paused for a moment, before adding, "Unless you just said that so they could have some alone time together."

Wash was almost tempted to ask just how long Tucker had known about Doc's crush too when a stomach rumble came from the child still standing next to the other man. The boy looked sheepish, but he started tugging a bit at Tucker's hand all the same, evidently taking that as a sign that he needed food as quickly as possible.

Since Wash couldn't really resist the chance to spend time with Junior, or his father for reasons he once again was forcibly pushing out of his mind, he nodded in response to Tucker's earlier invite. Junior grinned at the confirmation, latching on to Wash's hand with his free one as the two adults began walking towards the shopping and restaurant district with him excitedly hopping on the balls of his feet in-between them.

"You know, Tucker," Wash began after a minute of silence, "Eating something healthy every once in a while like Doc suggested isn't a bad thing."

"If we're eating out, it's _not_ going to be healthy." Tucker stated adamantly, "We're getting burgers. They come with lettuce and tomatoes. Close enough."

Wash cast him a dubious look.

"It's like a mini-salad!" Tucker exclaimed in defense.

"Not in the slightest." Wash was quick to disagree with a shake of his head, "At all."

"We had broccoli for lunch." Tucker's voice took on a pleading note, "So, I kind of owe the poor kid this."

The agreeing nod and grimace at the memory of torturous broccoli eating this comment brought to Junior's face was enough to almost have Wash laughing.

He sighed and slightly smiled instead, "All right then. Burgers it is since you've both _clearly_ suffered enough for today." He remarked, rolling his eyes at the same time.

"Damn straight!" Tucker nodded, grinning.

Wash looked away at the tingle he felt just then, his own smile widening a fraction in response.

"Did the training go okay?" The dark-skinned man asked a moment later to fill the sudden all-encompassing silence.

Wash nodded.

"You have a lot more patience than I do." Tucker told him, looking rather impressed.

Wash shrugged, "It's a challenge, but there are improvements every day."

If Bitters wasn't being as difficult as he was currently, the blond imagined there would be even more. Tucker seemed to be mulling over what he had said, though when he spoke up next he changed topics completely.

"The mercenaries certainly helped us out on this mission." He remarked casually, glancing over at Wash to gauge his reaction.

Wash stopped walking, staring straight ahead in front of him as he did so. He had to resist the urge to tighten his grip on Junior protectively out of some never-completely buried instinct.

"That's good." He finally got out, not meeting Tucker's gaze, "I know that Doyle in particular was hoping they would."

"Yeah, but Carolina wasn't too fond of them." Tucker's tone was conversational, but Wash knew him well enough to know that he was observing Wash's reactions closely as he pressed on, "I'm guessing you aren't either?"

Wash didn't deny it, opting for silence instead.

Tucker sighed, "Fair enough." He said after a terse few seconds, "Tell me, Wash, since we all know you've been out playing detective on your own, have you found anything we should be worried about yet?"

He was asking as a concerned parent, as someone who had been through shit and didn't want himself or any of the other people living here to have to go through more. It was a valid question, given the situation. Wash respected Tucker, _cared_ enough about him to answer honestly.

"Not yet." He admitted.

The meaning behind that particular statement hung heavy in the air between them. Tucker felt it too. Just because there hadn't been anything found yet didn't mean something wasn't going on. It didn't mean they were going to stop looking either. The teal-armored man swore under his breath at that realization, neither man looking at the other just then.

Junior glanced at them both nervously, scared by the sudden tenseness. He squeezed his father's hand questioningly. Tucker smiled softly at the boy, squeezing the small hand he held protectively in his own to reassure his son.

"It's okay, Junior." He told him in a soothing voice, "You know Wash. Dude's just being his paranoid self again."

"I really wish it is just that this time, Tucker." Wash remarked quietly, "Truly."

Tucker glanced over at him, and Wash couldn't help but sigh once more.

"I really don't want anything else bad happening to any of us." He admitted at length, "Or to Chorus in general."

The look Tucker gave him just then was one of complete understanding, "I know. After everything, believe me, I _get_ it." He assured him, "I just want us all to be okay too."

Wash was pretty sure the sudden urge to pull the other man into a hug just then along with Junior would be a bit hard to explain. Instead, he coughed awkwardly, noting with surprise that Tucker was fidgeting nervously and was apparently finding the street fascinating at the exact same time.

Junior, having grown rather used to these awkward moments between the two adults while growing up, took the lead then and started dragging the still very flustered men towards his favorite restaurant.

* * *

The pieces of scrapped tech that Simmons had been examining were scattered all over the table in the smaller workspace he was using. The cyborg remained hunched over in his chair, gazing down at the items assembled before him and running his metallic hand over one of the larger pieces.

There was still a small amount of energy radiating from it, which meant that despite it looking as though this was just an inside component of some larger machine out there somewhere that had been ripped forcibly from its main body, there was still _some_ kind of reserve power flowing through it.

A piece like this was definitely something that could be worked into larger equipment as a power conduit or something else of a similar nature once more tests were run on it. It was for finds like that that even the most innocuous-looking material was brought back during salvage runs. You never knew exactly what you truly had and what could ultimately prove useful until you ran diagnostics.

As the faint traces of energy coming from the circuitry continued to dance in front of his cybernetic eye, something that had admittedly taken him a while to get used to, Simmons absentmindedly reached over with his human hand to the data pad resting close by.

Without even looking down at it as he'd used devices like it for so long that he had their programs and layouts completely memorized by this point, he began entering in the important data points for the log for this particular piece. Both the ones starting to now flash in the background of his red-tinted cybernetic vision and his own human observations along with the more thorough tests he had run.

The scanning feature of his cybernetic sight was a new upgrade that Doctor Grey had devised for him a while back. He honestly wasn't sure about it yet, though he was grateful that she had the foresight to give him the option to turn it off after he had once looked at a microwave with it turned on.

Following the data point entry, he pressed the completed button to finish up the log before carefully pushing the scrapped tech piece to the portion of the table where he was sorting the examined items to. His gaze went over to the other recently collected scrap that he still needed to examine on the opposite side of the table's surface, a tired sigh passing from his lips.

Sarge had gotten both Caboose and Sheila to go with him to store the energy containers for processing later, so this pile of scrap was all that was left here to go through from the day's scavenge mission. Lopez and Junior had gone for a walk outside earlier. Simmons suspected that the brown-armored robot had just wanted an excuse to get away from Church's grumbling for a bit and Donut's incessant chatter.

Simmons also suspected that on their way back they would be running into Tucker since the dark-skinned man had wasted no time in heading out to find his son after dropping off the items they had acquired outside of Chorus.

Doctor Grey had gone to the clinic even before Simmons had returned from the apartment complex earlier.

Doc and Donut had both been disappointed that the recovery team had returned just as they were getting ready to leave, but neither seemed too eager to volunteer extra hours all the same.

In a way, Simmons was almost relieved that everyone else was either busy elsewhere in the building or off enjoying their free time, since that meant he could lose himself in his work without any interruptions for a while.

On the other hand, it also sort of sucked too because there were no distractions from his own thoughts. There was nothing to keep his mind from wandering, nor anything keeping the usual threads of worry he tried to avoid dwelling on too much from seeping in.

The redhead already knew about the newest personnel additions to Chorus. He doubted there were any residents who hadn't seen the influx of steel-armored individuals by now. The cyborg also knew that there was a mixture of relief and wariness surrounding their presence here.

He could understand why, though it was really too early for him to make any judgement calls just yet. Simmons had briefly met Felix and Locus, the group's leaders, when they had come to the warehouse with Grif and the others to drop the gathered supplies off.

They had seemed decent enough in their mannerisms, though for some reason Simmons had the distinct impression that he wouldn't want to be anywhere alone with them. Though, in fairness, he kind of _always_ felt that way about strangers so that was probably neither here nor there.

They had not stayed long though, as Carolina seemed quite insistent on showing them the door the second the supplies had been unloaded. Felix had barely gotten out a joking remark about how maybe someone could give them a tour next time if the " _scary lady_ " wasn't around before said door had nearly slammed in his face.

The cyan-armored Freelancer had promptly grabbed onto her protesting little brother following that and proceeded to drag Church off somewhere. Most likely to warn him against spending too much time near the mercenaries until they knew that they were in fact trustworthy.

That had been around the time that Tucker had gone out to find Junior, and when Sarge had gotten Caboose and Sheila to help him due to their greater strength too.

As for Grif? The fat-ass hadn't even had the balls to say a _word_ to Simmons, or really to anyone else for that matter, when they had come in from their mission.

He even ignored Sarge's insult about having gone missing beforehand and wasting everyone's valuable time in having to go find his sorry orange butt, though he had stared at Simmons like a deer frozen in headlights when they had first saw one another.

Then the tan-skinned man had unceremoniously dumped the scrap pile onto the work table as neither Tucker nor Grif ever bothered categorizing things to any noticeable attempt when they were picking things up, much to Simmons' constant chagrin. After that, he pulled Donut off to the side to show the younger man something before he left for the night.

Simmons hadn't been able to hear what they were talking about or really see what it was that Grif showed Donut in the first place, and the two had quickly left following the exchange without giving the curious redhead even a chance to ask about it.

Not that it mattered in the long run, really. Ever since he had known Grif, Simmons had witnessed similar events play out. Sometimes when Grif went shopping, or just went out in general, he would immediately have a few words with Donut while sometimes giving him some secretive object in the process, and then afterwards it was as if the moment had never occurred.

Grif never told anyone what was going on, no matter who asked. He just kept telling Simmons it wasn't anything to show or share at the moment. Whenever Simmons asked Donut about it, he'd smile at him and say something about how it wouldn't be fair to Grif for him to ruin the surprise.

Sometimes Simmons would hear Donut gushing excitedly to Doc or Sheila about a secret " _project_ " after one of their uber-classified gossip huddles that Simmons usually wasn't asked to attend. Not that he would want to go or anything, but it would be nice to be asked every once in a while.

It was something that Simmons was often curious about, but had more or less learned to accept as a continued mystery at the moment given how many attempts he'd made at finding out what the two were up to.

Still though, Grif not saying even one word to him after everything that had happened earlier? Maybe the tan-skinned man just didn't want to get into another argument considering how things had played out before. Simmons had spent all of his free time cleaning his own fucking apartment thanks to that jackass!

The cyborg wasn't sure if he felt thankful for that or hurt. It was probably a combination of both, and that sucked for all sorts of reasons he was desperate not to dwell on currently. Sighing again. Simmons absentmindedly wiped at his human eye. He just had gotten some dust in it, it wasn't like he crying again or anything, damn it!

The redhead then reached out for another piece of scrap that needed to be looked over. He stopped just seconds before his fingers reached it when he heard shuffling coming from the now open doorway in front of him. He must have been really lost in his own thoughts not to have even heard the door opening earlier.

Grif was standing there, completely out of armor now and in civilian clothes. He was rather awkwardly holding out in front of him what looked like a large bag of food as though it might serve as a shield of some kind should Simmons try throwing something at him.

"Figured you might be hungry or something." He muttered under his breath in response to Simmons' questioning stare, "It's sort of a peace offering too since I was fucking stupid earlier."

"A—apology food?" Simmons asked dumbly, fairly certain that he had heard Grif talking about something like that before.

The sheepish look that had been on Grif's face when he had spoken up earlier melted away into a surprisingly eager one at the knowledge that Simmons had remembered one of their countless bored-as-fuck sentry discussion topics from years ago.

He nodded in confirmation, "Apology food."

There was an awkward moment of silence following that as Grif waited for Simmons to respond further, while the cyborg continued to stare at him mutely as his brain was still trying to process Grif _actually fucking apologizing_ at all. It was such a rare event that one couldn't necessarily blame poor Simmons for being momentarily brain broken due to shock.

Finally, Grif sighed impatiently, "Come on, Simmons. Don't leave me hanging here!" He waved the bag a bit for added emphasis, "I even got you a salad because you're so weirdly health-conscious, even though you _know_ I think they were invented by douches who kick puppies."

Simmons sighed at hearing yet another evil salad conspiracy theory, if only he could say that was the first one he had ever heard but that was sadly far from true, before asking, "What did you get for yourself then?"

He knew Dexter Grif well enough to know that he would damn well have bought himself dinner too.

"Two double cheeseburgers, three extra-large fries, and four of those little pie-things." He sighed sadly after recalling his list of food items, "Cutting back on food is hard."

It really wasn't all that terrifying or shocking anymore to Simmons that Grif _honestly_ considered that " _cutting back_ " on calories.

"You should have gotten a salad too." Simmons couldn't stop himself from berating the chubby man all the same for it, "Seriously, Grif, your eating habits have somehow managed to get even _worse_ since we came to Chorus."

Which was honestly really saying something since Grif had always had the uncanny ability to be able to sniff out the best spots to find unhealthy food to gorge himself on even during the war. If he kept it up like he was doing now? Well, okay, Simmons actually felt as though it was truly a fucking miracle that Grif _hadn't_ somehow had a heart attack yet, and the prospect of him _ever_ having one didn't exactly sit well with Simmons.

The nagging over his nutritional habits yet again caused a flash of anger over Grif's features, "That really isn't any of your concern now, is it?"

A burst of annoyance flared up in Simmons at that declaration, "That isn't true, Grif!" He yelled back in response before he could truly think over what he was saying.

Simmons wanted to throttle him then and there, especially given how fucking often they had argued and bickered over this very thing before. Normally, Grif would counter with some sarcastic retort right back, but he suddenly seemed to deflate at the prospect of the fight continuing.

Shoulders slumping a little bit, he sighed and tried holding out the bag again, "Look, Simmons, do you want the food or not?"

Before Simmons could respond or try to get his thoughts more crystallized around the previous matter he still didn't think was put to rest yet, what was left of his stomach just then decided to grumble loudly at the prospect of getting some food in it.

The flesh and blood portion of Simmons' face was already beginning to turn red in embarrassment even before he saw Grif's eyebrow raise in response and a teasing smirk suddenly emerging on the asshole's smug face.

"F—fine, I'll take you up on the apology food. This time." He managed to squeak out in a rather valiant effort to save what little face he had left in this conversation, "But this had _better_ be the last time you do something like that in my room."

He had to bite back on the sudden urge to add _"without me"_ that came into his thoughts just then, glad that his face was still pretty red from earlier to cover up the new blush that line of thinking caused.

A look of relief washed over Grif's face at Simmons' words, and he gave a slight nod in agreement to Simmons' terms.

* * *

It didn't take the two of them any time at all to clear space at the table for their dinner. Food was always an excellent motivator to get Grif to actually be helpful at cleaning.

As Simmons slowly munched away on his salad whilst trying not to look _too_ directly at Grif inhaling his food without even stopping for two seconds to chew in-between far too large bites in order to keep his own appetite up, the redhead tried to get a conversation going. If only to keep Grif from choking.

"So, what are your thoughts on the mercenaries?" He asked quietly after figuring it was a safe enough topic for the two of them to discuss, "Since those two went out with you guys."

Grif paused from devouring one whole carton of fries to shrug absentmindedly at the question, "They were a help this time. But, I mean, it's not like I can't understand where Carolina's paranoia about them is coming from."

"Yeah." Simmons could only really agree with that comment.

The tan man shrugged again, "Hopefully they'll earn that trust soon enough and everything can get back to fucking normal around here."

It was pretty much all they could hope for at this point. Simmons nodded his head once more in quiet agreement. Another silence fell between them following that, both awkward but also familiarly easy at the same time.

Simmons picked at a tomato on his plate, a slight smile coming to his lips as the silence continued. The awkwardness that had been permeating it was melting away more and more as the seconds passed into a sense of contentment as he recalled just how much he had _always_ enjoyed these types of moments with Grif.

The second he worked up the nerve to glance up again, he saw the fond sort of upwards tilt of Grif's mouth and Simmons wondered if maybe Grif was thinking and feeling along the same lines as him. Until, that is, since Grif had been staring at Simmons that whole time evidently, he realized that the redhead was now regarding him thoughtfully too.

The realization caused Grif to go oddly tense for a moment, a frown settling over the smile he'd had moments before as he suddenly worked up the nerve to suddenly spit out, "What happened before with Cass didn't mean anything."

The emphatic declaration had Simmons blinking in surprise for a second, his face heating up once more when his brain was finally able to process just what Grif was referring to, "I—I know."

Simmons was desperately hoping that would be the end of this topic because it was just uncomfortable to talk about, and he really didn't want to dwell on the feelings that he'd been trying so hard to avoid thinking a ton on any more than he already had today.

But, evidently Grif getting out whatever he really wanted to say about the subject just then was incredibly important to him. The expression on the genetically-engineered man's face was uncharacteristically serious, and his brown eyes never once left Simmons' own as he continued.

"It was beyond fucking stupid to do that in your room. I'm sorry. Fuck, I wasn't thinking at all." He was rambling, his voice growing more and more urgent with each word that came out of his mouth, "It didn't mean anything. She's just a friend."

"I—I know all of that, Grif." Simmons was starting to get even more flustered and put off-guard due to how strangely adamant Grif was being.

It was as if Grif really wanted him to understand and make sure that Simmons truly forgave him for what had happened and wasn't just saying so currently. It was making the cyborg wonder if perhaps the other man felt self-conscious about the whole thing due to his unique situation. Keeping that in mind, Simmons somehow managed to force a reassuring smile onto his face for Grif's sake, despite just really not wanting to talk about what had happened anymore.

It was enough to get Grif to stop mid-ramble, and Simmons pushed forward by speaking up in a shaking voice, "I…figured you might be needing release soon." He assured him, "And sex is just sex to you, right?"

Grif frowned at Simmons' choice of words, and for a moment it seemed as if he was contemplating arguing. Ultimately though, he shut his mouth tightly and swallowed back whatever he had been thinking of saying in that vein.

Simmons nodded his head as if that meant that Grif had just agreed with him a he was just desperate to get this conversation over and done with, "So long as you don't do it in my room again, it—it's fine."

It wasn't, not really. But admitting that would mean also admitting a lot of other things to Grif that he was _definitely_ not ready to do yet.

"It's too bad we couldn't just go out then instead." Grif muttered under his breath rather sullenly.

Simmons tried not to feel too happy or fall into his usual low self-esteem disbelief that Grif had seemed to be implying that he had wanted to hang out with _him_ more than having sex, and he had to look away from the other man in the hopes that the sudden back-in-full-force blush over his skin would fade quickly.

He coughed awkwardly to try to cover his reaction up more, "Th—that would have…ah, pro—probably made things even weirder in the long run since you weren't feeling too well, don't—don't you think?" The cyborg managed to stutter out.

The redhead was getting rather desperate at this point to find _any_ way to change the topic of conversation because Grif still had that uncharacteristically intense look on his face. He opened his mouth again to say something, and Simmons reached out suddenly across the table for the now ice-cold cup of coffee he had brought into the workspace with him.

Just as he was pulling it to his mouth for a nervous swig, his vision went completely _dark_.

Simmons' hand suddenly lost its strength, and when he became aware again in the next second it was to the sight and sound of the cup crashing onto the table below. Its liquid contents spilling over everything.

Grif was at his side instantly as Simmons continued to simply stare at the coffee droplets rolling off the smooth surface of the table. His brain was taking a few moments to process what had happened, and his first thoughts were an odd jumble of observations.

 _The food was ruined, along with all of the work he'd done already. Would the tech even work now at all? If his father had seen this, he would have screamed and yelled at him. Maybe even hit him._

The redhead swallowed nervously at that last thought, trying to keep the old and familiar wave of panic he felt from getting too out of hand. He hoped Sarge wouldn't be too mad or disappointed though.

"What the fuck happened?!"

It was _Grif_ who ultimately got him to think about the present, the sight of him filling his vision. The concern so plainly evident in his question just then an anchor that pulled Simmons back into a more cognizant, functioning mindset.

Simmons blinked as his thoughts started to catch up to speed once more. He honestly wasn't sure himself about the answer to Grif's question, as the " _blackout_ " he had just experienced wasn't really a typical issue or problem he had yet encountered with his cybernetics. In fact, he already seemed pretty much back to normal now.

Not bothering to wait for Simmons to properly formulate a response, Grif reached out and grabbed the other man's arm, already starting to pull Simmons towards the door as he did so. There was only a momentary shake in Grif's body at the contact, most likely since he had gotten release earlier as well as due to the adrenaline pumping through his system as his concern for the cyborg was overriding his body's usual reaction to touching someone.

"Come on. Let's find Doctor Grey." He said rather emphatically, in almost the same tone he had always used with Kai when he felt she needed to see a doctor.

Simmons pulled back, managing to get the two of them to stop due to his cybernetic enhancements even though it was a struggle with Grif actually actively trying to usher him out the door as he was doing with his own considerable body strength. Simmons always forgot that Grif was pretty strong due to his size.

Still, the cyborg really didn't want to be a bother to anyone considering the issue seemed pretty minor currently. After all, Doctor Grey and Sarge already used up enough of their free time patching him up.

"I'm—I'm fine now, Grif!" He protested, "There's no point in bothering her for something that only lasted a second!"

Grif looked ready to argue. His body just then was completely tense and rigid. The grip he had on Simmons' arm tightened a fraction, as if he was trying to reassure himself that the redhead was still there and not about to pull away from him.

Simmons tried again, "I'm probably just tired."

Grif considered that. At length, he nodded slightly, "All right. Fine." He told Simmons, "No doctor yet then."

However, Simmons' relief over having convinced Grif he was okay was short-lived when him relaxing slightly from trying to dig his feet into the ground as he had been doing before proved to be more than enough give to allow Grif to pull him completely from the workspace.

They were still headed in the direction of the clinic area despite what Grif had said earlier.

"Grif! I need to work still!" he protested, tugging backwards again, "Let go, fat-ass!"

"You should have thought of that _before_ volunteering for an extra shift that didn't help your piss-poor sleeping habits any."

Simmons stilled at the sudden remark from Grif, which only allowed the other to pull him all the more efficiently towards their intended destination. Staring determinedly forward, the older man wasn't looking at him at all. A dawning realization came over Simmons that the remark meant that Grif had somehow found out the real reason why he didn't make it to their joint night out.

"I'm sorry, I…" He spluttered weakly before trailing off completely, unsure of how exactly to explain or apologize really for what had happened without revealing a whole lot more than he wanted to in the process.

"Since you weren't helping yourself any in the rest department, I'm making sure you at least lie the fuck down for a while." Grif continued talking as if Simmons hadn't tried speaking up at all, "I'll get Sarge to yell at you later for overworking yourself again."

Simmons said nothing in response. His brain was still trying to come up with a plausible, not-really-going-into-feelings-territory explanation for why he hadn't told Grif the full truth behind skipping out before when the tan man preemptively cut him off with a tired sigh.

"Don't bother, Simmons. It's fine." He told him, "I know how much of a workaholic kiss-ass you are."

Grif then glanced over his shoulder at the slightly younger man, a wry smile on his face and brown eyes still underscored with more than just a passing tinge of concern, "So long as you get your rest now, let's just call it even. Sound good?"

Simmons couldn't help but smile back weakly, nodding his head slightly in agreement. Neither one of them chose to comment on the continued protective grip Grif had on Simmons' arm still. Or on how, upon reaching the clinic, Grif actually pulled up a chair to the cot that Simmons laid down on so that he could make sure that the redhead actually stayed put and properly rested for once.

Even though he was convinced that Grif was worrying over nothing, Simmons had to admit the concern felt oddly _nice_ all the same. Comforting too.

The cyborg just hoped, as he screwed his eyes tightly shut a second later, that the no doubt tomato-red hue his face probably took on following that line of thought wasn't _nearly_ as visible as he felt like it was.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Here we have a slightly larger third chapter of this story! :D Lots of characters were introduced in this part, backstories and world building continued to be fleshed out, there was some hinting at something possibly going on behind the scenes in the plot, and there were some more character interactions in general, as well as a bit more relationship development in the romance department too!

Bones is supposed to look a bit like Malese Jow, the actress currently playing the character of Linda Park on the TV show _The Flash_ if you are curious behind my head canon for her! :D

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hoped that you enjoyed reading it! :) Thank you very much again for taking the time to do so!


	4. Chapter 4

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Four:

By the time Vanessa Kimball finally exited the training hall with a rambling Doyle still hot on her heels, it was beginning to turn dark outside.

The lights and glow panels situated around the district of Armonia were starting to flicker to life all around them. Currently, they were set on their dimmest settings, sensors detecting the nighttime's progress to readjust the artificial lighting accordingly.

It would be the same throughout the entirety of Chorus too, though Kimball knew she wouldn't have the chance to see so for herself today as her feet, seemingly of their own accord, started heading back in the direction of the governmental headquarters.

As things stood, if Doyle wanted to continue discussing Chorus matters as he currently seemed so keen on doing, as he would never personally seek her out elsewise, she wanted to be on her "home territory."

Kimball wasn't really sure _what_ to make of the fact that she considered the administration and military facilities of Armonia to be more of her "home" than her actual residence. Hell, the reality was she pretty much _lived_ out of her office.

With that thought in mind, it occurred to her that she honestly couldn't even remember the last time she had even seen her house, let alone stepped inside of it for more than a second. It was hard to really consider a space much of a "home" when that was the case.

It certainly didn't help matters that the house, which she had been "given" after the previous leader had been killed in combat and his wife had moved out of to focus on her own business, was a space that held memories of several people she had felt were more capable and suited for her current role than she was even on her best days.

No, that certainly hadn't helped any at all. As driven and dedicated as she was to improving her region, the result of that knowledge never really gave her a desire to step foot in what was technically her own home.

Truthfully, the residential building was larger than any place she had ever lived in before, despite being from all accounts a modestly-sized home compared to the housing of larger and more financially stable regions'. Which, despite her not using it much personally, meant it had some advantages.

Thankfully, the house hadn't become totally wasted space as she was able to assign some of its rooms to someone at least, especially since that particular person had nowhere to go after the deaths of his other batch-siblings. It wasn't terribly surprising she would offer her living residential area to a fellow genetically engineered individual seeking refuge.

Honestly, due to her being one of the only other supply-runners who had both survived and chosen to stay on in the region, Palomo had become something of a constant in Kimball's life at Chorus. She had felt sympathy for the younger man and, given their shared heritage, it only made sense for them to stick together to the point where a few even occasionally mistook them for siblings.

During the turbulent times when Chorus was still desperately trying to recuperate, instead of moving and letting the younger man fend for himself, she opted to keep the home and had allowed him to also move in. After all, _what_ were you supposed to do as just one person with a house that had two levels to it? Even after the residential areas were pretty much up and functioning, Palomo never applied for an apartment of his own at one of the renovated complexes.

Now that she was looking down at her outfit, Kimball noted that even the civilian clothes she was wearing had come from her office. She had an assortment of spare clothes there so that she wouldn't waste time going back and forth from work.

The truth was she hadn't even been sure she was going home tonight either. She'd promised Cass that she would finally take some time off and swing by the bar later to catch up on old times. When she was able to reminisce with her friend, the dark-skinned woman usually just crashed in the apartment that the bartender had above her establishment.

Now, though, it seemed as if she might have to even delay doing that as well. She sighed, tuning in once more to the one-sided conversation at her side, contemplating whether or not she wanted to remain listening to it or if she still wanted to try to just leave.

Interacting with Donald Doyle was often a trying experience for her, to say the least. It had always been that way, ever since the two had somehow ended up becoming the leaders of Chorus following waves after waves of tragic misfortune.

They hardly ever saw eye-to-eye on even the most innocuous of things. She supposed it was something of a miracle that Chorus was doing as well as it was now given that. Still, if he wanted to discuss important matters, she couldn't and wouldn't ignore them.

So, even though she wasn't at all keen on canceling her plans or conversing more with Doyle than was absolutely necessary, Kimball chose to do so anyways. After all, wanting what was best for their region, even if they had _very_ different views on accomplishing and securing it, was one of the only things she could think of that they had in common.

"…So far, things seem to be going swimmingly with our new, _ah_ , associates." Doyle was saying while looking thoughtful, "Their leaders even contacted me with an expressed interest to finalize their staying on as citizens. They even offered to send word to a few outposts and regions that they're on better terms with to help further along diplomatic relations."

She nodded, though the dark-haired woman had the distinct feeling that the list of regions where the mercenaries' name-dropping would potentially hinder relations for Chorus was probably just as large, if not even larger, given the general nature of their profession.

"Likewise, I asked them if it were at all possible to provide a list of areas that would perhaps be less than keen on interacting with them directly." Shockingly, Doyle seemed to be on the same page as her for once, "As they say, better to be safe than sorry."

"Agreed." Kimball thought it was definitely in their best interest to stay on as good of terms as possible with their neighboring regions.

All of the effort put into breathing life back into a nearly-shattered Chorus could be destroyed in less than an instant if a few of the other regions became hostilely motivated towards them.

Doyle apparently saw the frown still furrowing her brows and couldn't keep himself from prying, "You don't seem too pleased by the news."

She shook her head, trying to dispel the unease that had been building up in her system, "No, it's not that. It's _good_ that they've already acclimated so well and are offering even more help." That part was quite true, although she had more to add: "But a part of me is still unsure we correctly handled the situation in the first place."

Doyle sighed, glancing to the side at a building they were passing that served as an office space for their geographical survey team who were already busy upgrading area maps to showcase both where and what had been found during the day's salvage mission for future reference.

"Believe me, I am still as unsure of that myself as you are." He told her quietly, "But we have built up a certain reputation for Chorus. One that would have been severely weakened had we turned away the assistance of able-bodied men and women, especially ones who want to join the citizenry in the future. Mercenaries or no."

"I'm well aware of that!" Kimball snapped back in response, "It's why we agreed to take them in following the endlessly pointless discussion we've already had about this very subject in the first place."

Doyle's green eyes only widened a fraction at Kimball's outburst, an odd look of tired resignation crossing over his features. He finally got out at length, quietly: "I'm not exactly sure what provoked _that_ particular outburst, Miss Kimball, since we've been largely on the same page regarding this matter."

Kimball sighed as she looked over at the man who was eight years her senior, though it was often quite apparent that the thirty-year-old woman had more experience with most military-related endeavors. Sometimes she wondered if he had spent as much of his life sheltered from the fighting as she'd been forced to run straight on into it.

The genetically engineered soldier knew that she at least owed him something of an apology in this instance, but _only_ this one. So, she muttered: "Sorry. I suppose disagreeing with you has become something of a force of habit."

She noticed he looked about to argue _that_ point. A small part of her almost wanted to smile at how predictable their routine was set up that she could tell what would happen next so astutely.

Kimball sighed once more before beating him to the punch, "Can we just _not_ discuss any of our citizenry policies for the moment? We have enough on our plates to deal with without arguing over that anymore."

"That's really only because a _certain_ someone doesn't care to listen to—!"

Doyle smartly cut his muttering off at the warning glare he received from Kimball just then. He coughed nervously, glancing away before hesitatingly looking back at her face and attempting to change subjects entirely, "It…it seems like the training of the younger recruits is also going rather well."

Grateful for the switch to a less volatile topic, Kimball's countenance became a bit friendlier, "Washington stepping in like he did has been immensely helpful." She noted, "Actually, _all_ of the Reds and Blues have been rather unorthodox but surprisingly good mentors."

The blond-haired man nodded in reply, apparently just as eager to keep the conversation going as she was now that they'd landed on one of their rather rare _safe_ topics, "The noncombat training has also been seeing marked improvement now that we have better equipment and more experienced personnel."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully before continuing, "Though the medical department in general still has a rather hefty request list for supplies."

Kimball frowned, "We'll most likely have to get into contact with more regions then."

While the area around Chorus might have caches of alien tech in surprising abundance, medicine and first aid supplies were another matter entirely. Yet, they were definitely a resource that no city could survive long without.

The older man was nodding his head in earnest agreement by this point, "Quite right. I would be glad to set things in motion regarding that matter as quickly as possible," he offered, "Since I tend to handle more of the diplomatic affairs."

Kimball only slightly nodded in response, her expression just then decidedly neutral. Doyle taking on the role of diplomat had been unofficially decided amongst the two of them a while ago. The dark-skinned woman liked to tell herself that it was because, deep down inside, she knew he had a better knack for it. That overall she just lacked the patience for the delicate political maneuverings that often detailed such endeavors.

She did _not_ want to dwell on how it had started because several regions had outright refused to interact with or recognize her as a proper leader due to her specific background.

Whether or not the man standing next to her had ever deduced the reasons why she never argued strongly against him acting as ambassador of sorts for Chorus, she couldn't say. She'd like to believe she kept it tightly under wraps, at least from a face-saving stance.

He certainly seemed oblivious as Doyle remarked, "Though you did do a marvelous job addressing the matter of… _ah_ , Lieutenant Bitters, was it? Given his situation, that was certainly an issue that required delicate handling."

Kimball stared at him incredulously, honestly not sure if he was attempting some poorly crafted joke at her expense or not. When it became obvious given the other leader's hopeful smile that he actually _believed_ what he had just said, she shook her head in disbelief.

"All I ended up doing was pretty much punishing the lieutenant by forcing him to work in a partnership assignment for the foreseeable future, in order to help him value his teammates." She muttered, "Quite frankly, it's probably even _more_ of a punishment for poor Lieutenant Matthews since he drew the short straw."

She'd had Bones already assuring her that she would be checking to make sure the auburn-haired soldier didn't develop any ulcers.

"I'm sure it will end up being a positive learning experience for both of them." Doyle reassured her, "After all, being forced to work together _can_ feel like something of a punishment at first…"

Unfortunately, since he'd turned his head away slightly at the beginning of his speech the full force of the death glare that Kimball was now sending his way was severely diminished, and he continued speaking as if his current companion wasn't willing him to spontaneously burst into flames.

"But, hopefully in the end, the true spirit of teamwork and camaraderie will prevail."

Now, death glare subsiding, she was back to just being reminded of how poorly worded many of the man's motivational speeches were.

Doyle coughed and turned to regard her again, his expression changing from earnest to more serious, "Besides, especially in Lieutenant Bitters' case, his attitude does need to improve if he wishes to continue being a soldier."

Kimball couldn't really argue, having discussed the same thing earlier with Washington herself. She sighed, "I can almost understand his mindset. To a degree." She admitted softly, shaking her head as if to keep her memories below the surface still, "Though my situation was admittedly a bit different from his."

For all of the hardships that she had faced as a supply-runner which were too numerous to count, and too many of which she did not want to dwell on again, they were mild compared to the life of a genetically engineered human aligned with mercenaries during the war.

The serious look Doyle cast her way following that admission was one that looked odd and completely foreign on his features. It was nearly unreadable. Considering how much of an open book the man usually was, that expression was a bit unsettling to Kimball in a way she would not have thought possible beforehand.

For a moment, as he opened his mouth to speak, she almost thought he may have finally worked up the nerve to delve a bit more into her past and satisfy some lingering curiosity he might have about it. Usually, it was a topic he'd avoid mentioning whenever possible.

It was also a topic that Kimball really had no desire to discuss with him of all people. As she tried to think of something to interrupt him with, the lighting beat her to it.

The lights and glow panels flickered all around them. The dark-haired woman could imagine the shielding doing the same as worst case scenarios flooded her mind when the flickering suddenly pitched Armonia and its surrounding districts into darkness for a few sharp seconds before coming back to life as if nothing had happened.

She would have thought she had been seeing things if Doyle didn't look as alarmed as she felt just then. Kimball frowned. She knew that one of their power generators had been on the fritz and had needed some repairs recently. Clearly, that had perhaps been a sign that _all_ of them needed a thorough look-over.

Having absolutely no power would definitely spell disaster for Chorus.

Doyle was thinking along the same lines as he waited a bit to make sure the power was in fact staying on before letting out a nervous breath of air and smiling slightly, "Well, it's good that it seems as though whatever outage that was only temporary, wouldn't you say? Let's hope it is over and done with."

For once, Kimball couldn't help but agree with him.

* * *

Simmons had fallen asleep fairly quickly on one of the clinic's cots after Dexter Grif had made him lie down, and the slightly older man stayed at the cyborg's side for a few minutes watching him sleep.

The maroon-wearer's chest only moved marginally when he was in a deep slumber due to his lacking an organic lung system. The intake and outtake of breath from his partly open mouth just as shallow. The first few weeks, months even, after the operation, Grif had always watched Simmons sleep on account of that. Just to reassure himself that the redhead would, in fact, wake up.

He had done so as well following the cybernetic upgrades Simmons had received at Chorus, or on the rare occasions since then whenever he'd actually convinced Simmons to nap with him. It was still hard to pull away from such a vigil now.

But, maybe Simmons had been right about it just being exhaustion considering how quickly he had fallen asleep. Maybe the incident truly hadn't been caused by anything else more serious. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time the dumb nerd had pushed himself too hard when it came to work.

Then again? Grif's frown deepened at the thought as he stared down at Simmons' peaceful, sleeping face while resisting the sudden urge he had to move a red strand of hair that was out of place. The unruly hair was resting on the synthetic skin of the cyborg's face plate.

Grif had made it a point to learn all he could about the side effects and issues that were a result of Simmons' cybernetics following the surgery, often enough without the others being aware he had done so beyond Doctor Grey.

He knew the blackout, for lack of a better term, and this current deep sleep wasn't a normal reaction to exhaustion from Simmons. Grif also knew that it was definitely _not_ a typical side-effect of his enhancements either.

The tan-skinned man sighed, having in that moment decided on a course of action that was probably going to get the snoozing redhead mad at him yet _again_. But, fuck it! He just couldn't afford the risk.

This time, as he was standing up from the chair he had been sitting in beside Simmons' cot, Grif did in fact reach over to absentmindedly push the strand of hair off of the cyborg's face. The contact with the slightly warm synthetic skin caused an all too familiar tingle throughout his body starting with his fingertips.

The genetically engineered reaction was always more intense with Simmons, even though technically the artificial components of his body shouldn't have any effect at all. Grif didn't want to dwell too much on why that was though.

After that action, he stepped away to begin his search for Doctor Grey. He didn't have to look for her too long, finding the dark-skinned thirty-one-year-old in the kitchen area of the facility. The location only served to remind him that he was a nervous eater, but he rather admirably resisted the urge to run to a cabinet to find some kind of snack just then.

Surprisingly, Doctor Grey was sitting at the kitchen's table in what looked to be a silky two-piece pajama set adorned with a rainbow of colorful flowers that nearly hurt when looked at directly. Her short, cut to ear length black hair was held up in a tiny, messy ponytail. The doctor was currently engrossed in reading something on her data pad, absentmindedly sipping a cup of tea as she did so.

It occurred to Grif just then that, beyond visiting places on medical runs or for her research, he had never really seen her outside of the building much. He always supposed she was like Sarge and pretty much lived here, and the sight of her now pretty much confirmed his suspicions.

The genetically engineered man probably should just be grateful that she was here alone, and that he hadn't walked in on Sarge having her pinned to some various surface. _Again_. Five times were more than enough to usually have even him knocking now when he had the right presence of mind.

It took her a few seconds to register his presence even after he not-so-subtly coughed, "Working late?"

"Hmm? Oh, this?" She motioned to the pad with a tilt of her head, and he was certain the report on it was heavy and filled with the type of words that would send him into a boredom-induced coma, "No, it's just one of the first theses I ever wrote back when I was twelve. I suppose I was feeling a bit nostalgic."

"You were writing multiple theses when you were twelve?" Grif couldn't help but blurt out.

 _Fuck_. He knew she was crazy smart on top of being just plain crazy, but that was pretty unbelievable.

"On top of helping with research and trying to keep soldiers alive so they could go out and get themselves killed later." Her voice was as chipper as always, but there was a momentary glimpse of sadness in her brown eyes that caught Grif off-guard.

Not that he really should be surprised though. The war had been shitty to all of them. Just as he was about to bring up the reason for this _wonderfully uplifting_ (immense sarcasm intended there) conversation, Doctor Grey beat him to the punch.

"So," She remarked, pushing the powered-down data pad away and regarding him seriously, "Who are you concerned about?"

The slightly older man blinked, "Excuse me?"

Doctor Grey flashed him an amused look, "You only ever personally seek me out if there's a health concern involving two specific people."

She tapped a finger on the table, looking thoughtful, "I don't believe there's anything wrong with Kai since her levels should be good at the moment. Besides, Bones would be there to handle any sudden injury or illness." She smiled at him far too knowingly, "Which leads me to believe that you must be here about Simmons."

Grif gulped and turned his head to the side at the stupid rush of heat that suddenly washed over his face just then, though his reaction pretty much confirmed Doctor Grey's observations.

She thankfully chose not to gloat though despite the momentary flash of triumph that lit up her features, instead quickly falling into her more serious mode, "What's going on, Grif?"

Eccentric as she was, Doctor Emily Grey _was_ a doctor who prioritized her patients when matters were dire enough. Not to mention that Simmons was a recurring patient of hers due to her constant upgrades to his cybernetics to make them more functional and comfortable. Naturally she would get concerned if someone as laidback as Grif was worried enough about something to seek her out.

"Do you remember that weird power disruption we had a little while ago?" He asked her.

The dark-skinned woman nodded, "Even though it only lasted a few seconds, they're so rare that it was a bit curiosity-piquing."

He'd have to take her word on that. Given how what had happened with Simmons had seemed almost tied to said power outage, Grif had found it more terrifying than anything else.

"Right. Well, when it happened I was with Simmons." He ignored the suddenly oddly enthusiastic expression that lit up her face just then to continue, "He…well, it's sort of like he _broke_. Like he froze, or blacked out…or something."

Grif shrugged his shoulders helplessly, not sure of a better way to describe it as he continued: "He was back to normal pretty much the second it was over though. Well, as close to normal as the nerd usually gets at any rate."

His attempt at a joke was weak, and it did nothing to lessen the worry crawling up inside of him as he recalled once again what had happened.

Doctor Grey sat there, staring far away as she mulled over his words with a very serious expression on her features.

"Simmons said it was likely due to exhaustion and overworking himself like he usually does, but…" He sighed, "I know how he usually gets when he's tired and that's never happened before."

"It _isn't_ a negative side-effect he's ever had due to his cybernetics either." Grey finally cut in.

The orange-wearing man could only nod in response.

"The timing seems far too coincidental as well." She noted, nodding her head, "I think you were right to tell me about this, Grif. I know Simmons sometimes downplays his side-effects."

He smiled wryly, "Yeah, but I have a feeling it's going to bite me in the ass when he finds out."

She smirked, "Would you not have told me if you were really worried about that though?"

Grif didn't respond, but he imagined the answer was probably written on his face more than he'd like. No, he would have still done it. Anything to keep Simmons healthy and _here_.

"Where is he now?" Doctor Grey was standing up.

"In the clinic. Since he _was_ exhausted, I got him to at least lie down for a bit."

She nodded, "I'll go and look him over then."

He felt a flood of relief wash over him, "Thanks, Doctor Grey."

Simmons would be pissed at him, but at least Grif felt better now.

"You might want to lie low at first." Doctor Grey suggested.

He frowned, "No way. I'm used to him being pissed at me about something."

"But _I'd_ rather get through the exam without a shouting match, however entertaining they may be." She informed him.

Realizing that the genetically engineered man was still going to try arguing with her, she switched tactics, "Besides, I _do_ recall Kai asking around for any spare lube we had earlier."

 _That_ did the trick.

Grif's countenance broke into a frown at the latest news of his little sister's antics, "God damn it, Kai!" He swore under his breath before looking seriously back at Grey, "Keep a lookout on him until I get back?"

She nodded, voice serious, "Of course."

Then Grif was gone, racing blindly through the hallways on the search for his dumb-as-all-fuck sister before she could embarrass the family again.

On top of that, he was still worried about Simmons. The dark-haired man knew he'd no doubt not only have to deal with an epic shouting match with Kai when he found her, but that he would also have to deal with Simmons being mad at him for saying anything about the blackout incident at all.

It was times like these when a nap would be the best thing in the world, but there was just no chance of that happening anytime soon. He sighed. Fucking _perfect_.

But, knowing that at least Simmons would be all right for certain following a check-up from Doctor Grey would make it all worth it. Grif was positive of that.

* * *

Junior was tucked into his bed following his night out with his dad and Wash, an army of stuffed animals keeping watch over him. Many of them were gifts that he'd received over the years growing up from his father and his friends.

The young boy still received a new cat plushie every year on his birthday from Wash, an event which the former Freelancer insisted Tucker always help him out with. The younger man always did so because he knew Wash was likely to buy out a whole store, or get an actual cat (or twelve), if left to his own devices.

Tucker watched Junior sleep for a few seconds from the doorway, the boy's markings bathing the room in a soft light. The light used to keep him up at night as a baby, but thankfully his son had gotten used to them by now and even smiled when Tucker fondly called him his little nightlight. The dark-skinned man then closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb his son's well-earned rest.

Wash had already parted ways with them at the apartment complex to get some sleep at his own place. Tucker frowned, his feet subconsciously taking him to his own apartment's backdoor that he then opened, peering out onto the outside grounds to make sure he didn't see a familiar figure in steel and yellow heading out once more.

He'd have to give the blond an earful if he did, especially since he knew that given how much extra work Wash was constantly doing he _had_ to actually be tired.

The genetically engineered soldier and Carolina were no doubt now going to put it upon themselves to take on even _more_ work on account of the whole mercenary situation. Not that Tucker couldn't understand why, of course. Still, his concern permeated through. He really hoped that for his friends' sakes, Wash's in particular, they would be convinced that things were going to be okay in that department soon.

Tucker couldn't make out any familiar shapes in the dim lighting encompassing the building, so it looked as though Wash was in fact resting like he said. He sighed in relief, smiling somewhat to himself.

Likewise, the power seemed to once more be going strong as well, which also gave him some relief. Like they really needed anything _else_ to worry about on top of the everyday shit.

The dark-haired man hadn't been quite sure what to make of the momentary fluctuation before when they'd been out eating, and Wash hadn't either. No doubt the former Freelancer's brain had been jumping to the worst possible scenarios before everything turned back on not a second later.

So, if that was the only time it was ever going to occur? Well, Tucker was more than okay with filing it under _"sometimes shit just fucking happens"_ and going on with his life, especially since it had only lasted for a second and he had a kid whom he did _not_ want to needlessly worry either.

Maybe he'd talk to Sarge, Church, or Simmons later about it for his own peace of mind, but that was about it. Just not in front of Wash or anything. If only because the younger man didn't want to add anymore to the guy's overflowing plate of worry if he could avoid doing so.

"Oh! Hey, Tucker!" A familiar voice called out in greeting, "Getting some fresh air?"

Tucker blinked, surprised to see Donut standing just a few doors down from him. The lightish-red-wearing man's apartment wasn't on this floor, so who was he visiting? For the life of him, he could not put a name to the door at all. Besides…

"Weren't you and Doc tearing it up tonight?"

Donut's smile widened to incredible proportions, "Oh, we did tear it up! We had so much fun we had to call it an early night. I don't think I'll be able to sit for a while without being sore from all the fun we had!"

"Uh-huh." Tucker had to choke down a _"TMI, dude."_ comment since he knew Donut _probably_ didn't mean it the way it had sounded. Maybe.

Besides, given how chipper and eager Donut still looked, he had a feeling it was probably more Doc who had needed a rest from the night's activity. Whatever else someone might want to say about Donut, the dude could out party the best of them.

Tucker was just about to say good night and leave it at that when something curled under the dirty blond's arm caught his attention.

"So, Grif gave you that?" He asked, indicating the familiar plush toy that he had seen his chubby friend pocketing earlier at the ruined farmhouse.

He had thought he'd seen the two of them talking earlier when they'd gotten back. Donut looked down at the dog and nodded, smiling and bringing a finger to his lips.

"Don't tell anyone though, _especially_ Simmons." The younger man told him conspiratorially, "It's supposed to be a surprise."

A surprise how many fucking years in the making now? Tucker wondered just how long it would take for Grif to even share it with the cyborg.

He sighed, "He _really_ needs to just tell the damn nerd already."

"Tell me about it." Apparently his long-suffering mutter had been picked up by Donut, who nodded in agreement with a thoughtful frown, "We say the same thing at our weekly gossip circles."

For a moment, Tucker was tempted to ask if Donut wanted to try to help him hatch another matchmaking scheme, but almost decided against it when he thought back to how the bacon grease in the shower one had played out. Who knew the fat-ass could run that quickly?

They'd need to formulate one over weeks, _months_ , of planning to avoid that kind of mishap. Well, there was no time like the present. Besides, Tucker had actually had fun the few times he had helped Donut repair clothes or toys for Junior in the past. Might be nice to try it out again with Grif's toy. He was just about to offer to help when the door to the mystery apartment opened.

"Hey! Sorry it took so long!" Doc said in way of an apologetic greeting to Donut as he sheepishly held out his sewing kit, "I couldn't find it at first."

"Oh, that's okay! We had so much fun last time I figured that might be the case." Donut grinned, "It gave me the chance to chat a bit with Tucker, so it's all good!"

Wow. Tucker had no idea Doc lived on this floor too.

"What's up, Doc?" He asked, "Did you move here recently?"

A confused look crossed over Doc's bespectacled face, "I've been your neighbor since we got to Chorus, Tucker."

"Are you sure?" Tucker frowned, "Because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that."

"Pretty sure." Doc still looked confused, and an awkward silence filled the space.

At least until Tucker remembered what Donut had said earlier, "So, Doc helps you fix up the toys that Grif gives you?"

"Yeah!" Donut jumped right in, throwing a conspiratorial grin at his brown-haired friend, "It's our very own secret within a secret! Doc's surprisingly great with poking through fabric!"

Doc blushed a bit at the remark, "I just thought it would be nice to help Donut out, you know? Since he's being nice and helping Grif."

"That's why you're so awesome, Doc!"

Doc was turning a shade of red at the praise that would have made Sarge proud, but Donut was oblivious to it since he turned back to face Tucker.

Tucker smiled, figuring maybe now wasn't the best time to try to figure out matchmaking plans with his friend. Particularly when said friend was possibly currently getting matched up as they spoke.

"Well, I put Junior to bed a while ago so I should check up on him." He said as a way to excuse himself from what should be a private moment between Doc and Donut, "I'll let you guys know if I need anything of Junior's fixed in the future then."

Donut cheerfully saluted, "You can count on us, Tucker!"

"Absolutely!" Doc smiled in agreement, "Good night."

Tucker's door was just closing as Donut stepped into Doc's apartment, an oddly happy thrill emanating from Tucker as he debated calling Wash, Church, or Grif to tell them of this new development. He was totally blaming Grif's _"collection"_ for all of these sentimental feelings.

Only barely reining that urge in, he instead thought back to Doc's apartment and supposed Doc _was_ right about when he had moved in. The dark-skinned man wondered if the mercenaries had gotten their apartment assignments now too, and where they were exactly in the residential district.

He sighed, his giddiness suddenly tempered with a bit of unease even if it wasn't nearly as strong as what Wash or Carolina probably felt about the situation. His increased paranoia? Well, Tucker was totally blaming that all on Wash.

* * *

When the bottle of water was shoved in front of his face, Matthews shook his head while feeling as though he were about to puke. He was hugging his knees tightly to his chest on the top of the stairwell where their apartments were located, his sisters and Kai gathered around him.

Andersmith had already left, wanting to check on Caboose and Freckles because there had been a salvage mission earlier in the day. Palomo had been unusually quiet and had just wanted to go to his own place following training. The genetically engineered supply-runner didn't share it with the others before leaving, but it seemed like Bitters' earlier comments had maybe cut him a bit deeper than he cared to admit. Bitters, naturally, had just walked past them to reach his level a floor below their own without saying a word.

Katie clasped a hand onto his shoulder in a comforting gesture, "It's going to be okay, Matthews." She tried gently.

He couldn't bring himself to respond, instead burying his head into his knees. _Would it_? He was being partnered up on an upcoming team assignment with a guy who seemed to despise him.

He wouldn't dare protest Kimball or anyone else's orders, but the announcement had nearly caused him to faint on the spot. Recalling that just now made him want to puke even more.

"She's right." Volleyball clasped her hand on his other shoulder, "We're all here for you."

"Yeah, we can kick his ass all sorts of ways if he's a jerk!" Kaikaina chimed in, "He won't want to mess with us."

He couldn't help but smile weakly, touched almost to the point of crying, "Thanks, guys."

"That's what family's for, Matthews." Katie smiled and plopped down next to him on the stairs.

"Yep, kicking ass for you when it's needed!" Kai agreed, "My brother always says that."

"Words of wisdom from the mighty Captain Grif himself?" Volleyball, knowing Matthews' adoration of the man, asked while shooting a teasing wink at her adopted brother.

"Words, at any rate." Kai grinned herself right back at the blonde, "But the thought behind them is nice."

"Agreed." Volleyball squeezed Matthews' shoulder again, "So, don't worry about the assignment. Okay? We're here for you. Kai, Andersmith, and Palomo are too."

Matthews nodded slightly, "Thanks." He said again in earnest before adding, "I know General Kimball means well, so I—"

He cut himself off when Antoine Bitters entered the stairwell again. The young man with multi-colored hair looked up at them, focusing on the suddenly still Matthews with a glare. Then he left without saying a word down the steps.

The auburn-haired rookie groaned and once again buried his face in his knees, the urge to puke rising once more. He _wanted_ to be a good teammate to Bitters.

Even more-so, he hoped at some point that they could all be something like friends with the young man in the orange trim. That they could all be as close with him as they already were to one another. But, moments like _that_ did not instill any confidence in him.

Volleyball was trying to tell Matthews to ignore Bitters when the loud, frustrated voice of Dexter Grif interrupted her. The tan, heavyset man was wheezing his way up the stairs while glaring at his little sister.

"God damn it, Kai!" The older man somehow managed to get out in-between struggling breaths, "What is this I hear about you asking around for lube _again_?"

As the three lieutenants all turned to stare at their friend in confusion following the odd question, she stuck her tongue out at her brother, "Geeze, Dex! Quit being such a killjoy and go have sex with your fucking boyfriend already!"

* * *

When Richard Simmons woke up later, he was shocked to see Doctor Grey hovering over him in the chair that Grif had occupied before. Her messy hair and bright floral pajamas not making the sight any less disconcerting.

"Good morning!" She greeted cheerily, all smiles, "Did you sleep well?"

"I…w—well, yes?" It took his brain a few moments to really process what was going on from his groggy state of mind. Her words sunk in eventually though, and he blinked, "It's morning?"

"Early morning, yes." She nodded, her assessing gaze fixed on him, "But you slept the whole way through the night, which must mean you were truly exhausted."

He supposed it did, now that he thought about it. It usually took him forever to fall asleep in places he wasn't too familiar with.

"Sorry for taking up room, Doctor Grey." The redhead pulled his feet over the side of the cot, letting them fall onto the floor softly, "I'll leave and—"

"Though, now that you're rested," Doctor Grey's look had become a lot more serious and she talked as if she hadn't heard Simmons at all, "Do you want to discuss what happened during the power outage?"

Simmons blinked, mouth hanging open agape. How did she…? Then it hit him. _Grif!_

The fat fuck! Even after he'd given his word that he wouldn't say anything. Simmons was going to give him an earful when he saw him again.

Doctor Grey seemed to be reading his upset facial expressions because she sighed a second later before talking, "Don't be too hard on him, Simmons. Grif only told me about what had happened because he was worried about you."

Before Simmons could respond, a loud yell came from the hallway outside.

" _Ow!_ Will you get the fuck off of me?" A familiarly angry voice shouted, "I keep telling you I'm fucking fine now!"

The door opened to the clinic and Carolina walked in, dragging a still loudly protesting Church with her.

She regarded the two individuals near the cot carefully, barely concealed concern flickering briefly in her green eyes, "So, I take it something happened with Simmons as well?"

"As well?" Doctor Grey sat up straighter in her seat at the question.

Carolina nodded, "Church and I were conversing earlier. The lights flickered, and then he suddenly started screaming about sharp pain coming from his implants."

"It's fine now, sis, so you can lay off with the death grip!" Church tried futilely pulling his arm away from his overprotective big sister.

Doctor Grey shared a look with Simmons, and the unusually serious look he found on her features combined with the cyborg's own growing sense of unease over what they had just heard caused him to visibly shudder.

"I think both of you need to have an examination right away." She stated emphatically, her voice broaching no room for argument.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The plot thickens! I hope you liked this chapter. It was a really neat one to write up. :D

Not much to say here currently except that I will be starting work on the next chapter soon and I will also be posting my first prequel story for this AU even sooner. Since I have been mentioning ages in this fic, I will post a list of all of the character ages in the main _When We Were Soldiers_ story timeline here, minus the robots and VI or AI characters. This can be used as a reference, as some of the side stories will be prequels:

Hargrove: somewhere in his late 70s

Sarge: 42

Aiden: 40

Donald Doyle: 38

Carolina and Four Seven Niner: 37

Wash and Locus: 36

Felix and Bones: 35

Grif, Tucker, Cass, and Sharkface: 34

Doc: 33

Simmons and Andersmith: 32

Doctor Grey: 31

Kimball: 30

Church and Tex: appear to be somewhere in their 30s

Donut: 28

Caboose: 27

Bitters: 25

Volleyball: 24

Palomo: 23

Kai: 22

Matthews: 21

Jensen: 20

Junior: 10

Thank you very much for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you'll like the next chapter too! :)


	5. Prequel: In Spite of Fear

"The opposite of war is…" Prequel: **In Spite of Fear**

 _Doctor Emily Grey reflects on her past as she becomes part of a new family at Chorus and develops feelings for an older man._

 _Main Pairing(s): Sarge/Doctor Grey_

 _Background Pairing(s): Grimmons, Tuckington, Docnut, & Lopez/Sheila_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

In Spite of Fear:

If there were two things that Doctor Emily Grey liked being, they were to be precise and factual.

She thrived off of learning and being able to understand things. Had done so ever since she was a child. A genius, a prodigy. The people around her had always described her with those types of labels, albeit those words were also always followed by an additional description: "an eccentric one."

By the age of twelve, she had already written several theses. That had also been the start of her career as a doctor seeing as how medical staffs during the fighting were always shorthanded. A cruel reality of constant war. So, because it was well-known already where her interests lied even at such a young age, she had been pulled away from her studies.

She helped stitch men and women back together, helped save lives. Often she would see the same faces back at the hospital or medical ward just a few weeks later, the whole process repeating until it simply _didn't_ anymore.

The young woman knew why that was. She just never wanted to say it out loud.

For as many people as she saved, there were twice as many, probably more, that she lost. She couldn't even save all of her patients. Truthfully, most had succumbed to their injuries before she'd even been able to approach their hospital beds.

By the time the fighting all around her had so abruptly stopped years later, she was numb. She found herself delving more and more into her work to avoid thinking of anything else. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't.

It was probably no wonder, given how lost she was, how _alone_ , that the dark-skinned woman had made her way to a region called Chorus that was in the process of rebuilding during the war's aftermath.

Its open door policy had intrigued her, as did both the abundance of alien tech in the surrounding lands and the chance to ply her trade to help other survivors who were also trying to make new lives for themselves.

She set up her temporary clinic and home in a warehouse while the rest of the city was still in the throes of massive repairs.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to have your clinic in the medical area?" Donald Doyle, one of the leaders of the city, asked her once when he came by for help with stress-induced ulcers.

Doctor Grey caught the older man staring around at her clinic area. Perhaps he was surprised at how sterile and spotless it was despite the less-than-ideal conditions of the rest of the facility.

She shook her head, "It's best to have multiple areas for healing. Besides," there was a glimmer in her dark brown eyes, "It gives me the perfect opportunity to also brush up on my robotics and alien tech research."

Doyle simply nodded at her response, not really understanding why or perhaps just a bit unnerved by her sudden change in demeanor just then. Still, he thanked her earnestly all the same for her help.

Even when the residential district finally opened up, she chose to remain living in the warehouse for convenience sake. It had become a permanent living situation, without her even realizing it.

* * *

Doctor Grey thrived on facts, on knowing the "whys" behind everything.

That was especially true when a group of mismatched soldiers calling themselves the Reds and Blues arrived at Chorus and soon became "neighbors" of sorts to her at the salvage and repair warehouse. The introductions had been of a rather unmemorable sort.

"So, you run a clinic here?" One of the men, a dark-skinned soldier in teal armor, had asked while scratching the back of his head, "And you'll help research the tech we'll be bringing back too?"

"That's right." She nodded in agreement, her ear-length cut black hair moving slightly with the motion.

The man, who she found out later was named Lavernius Tucker, glanced at the red-armored older soldier standing next to him, "Guess that makes us teammates then."

A nod from the other man, who she would later find out was named Sarge, seemed to cement this statement as truth, "Welcome to the team, little miss!"

Almost just as quickly, Doctor Grey had been welcomed into a new, oddball family. One that she would very quickly grow to love.

* * *

"Well, using a reserve power system for any type of robotic limb isn't only practical. It's downright sensible." Sarge told Doctor Grey emphatically.

The two of them often found themselves having discussions like this in their spare time together. She was having a cup of tea while Sarge guzzled down a mug of coffee that his lightish-red armored subordinate Franklin Delano Donut had made earlier. According to the expert opinion of the Reds' leader, the dirty blond was the best at making coffee out of their group.

Similar to herself, Sarge had also seemed keen on spending most of his time at the warehouse instead of at his assigned residence. The older soldier had once told her it was because he had spent so much of his life living outside of homes that he just felt more comfortable and at ease in places like it instead.

She could relate, something that she was finding to always be a fairly consistent occurrence with this man. This was showcased by such things as their shared love of robotics and cybernetics, for instance.

"True. You need the metal and circuitry to not only be durable and sturdy, but rather flexible as well."

He grinned, the expression a good look on his face, shaking his head in disbelief, "I'll tell you what, Doctor, we keep having nice little chats like this one and one of these days I am bound to fall in love with you."

Grey wasn't quite sure what to make of the sudden increase in her heart rate or the rush of heat to her cheeks just then. She even had to bring her tea cup up to her face in order to cover up her sudden smile.

Sarge looked nearly as red as his armor, his eyes darting away as he tried to think of something else to say or to perhaps negate his commentary entirely.

Doctor Grey found that she didn't want that to happen. So, she spoke up instead, bringing up a topic she had been curious about and that would no doubt be classified as a _"safe"_ one for both of them.

"I'm trying to get everyone's medical records to be as accurate as possible," she said without preamble, "But the one thing I appear to be missing from yours is your age, Sarge."

"Oh." He looked towards her, then away again, and then back all the while with his face still completely red, "Twenty-nine."

He said it emphatically enough, but Doctor Grey knew a patient's lie when she heard one.

* * *

Dexter Grif hadn't left Richard Simmons' side since the latest upgrade surgery. Grey watched the pair from the clinic's doorway, finding herself smiling fondly at the sight.

Grif had his hand resting on Simmons' metallic one, ignoring the visible shudder that had initially sparked up at the contact throughout his body. Meanwhile, the redheaded cyborg was smiling up at the orange-wearing man sleepily from his still drug-induced fuzziness.

They were whispering softly to one another. Sometimes there was a bit of bickering about what they were going to do when Simmons was able to leave, but no matter what they were always conversing happily.

It was rare to see the two being so obviously open about their feelings for one another, and Doctor Grey had a suspicion they would both deny it ever happened when Simmons was back to feeling better.

"They really should just admit it already." Sarge, her partner-in-crime from the earlier surgery, remarked with a sigh and a harrumph behind her.

The dark-haired woman turned in his direction and began walking when he motioned that they should give the two men a few moments alone, asking in surprise: "You'd be okay with that?"

After all, it was common knowledge that Sarge wasn't the biggest fan of Grif's.

The Reds' leader scoffed, "They're both good kids, even Grif on the ultra-rare occasions when he isn't being a lazy dirt-bag." He smiled and winked at her conspiratorially, "Besides, I'm pretty sure _I_ knew they loved each other even before they ever did."

The smile on his gruff features was genuine and fond, full of warmth. Grey decided that she loved that look on him.

Coughing to cover up the sudden flushing of her cheeks, she decided to attempt changing the subject again, "Sarge, about your age…"

He looked at her again as her statement trailed off, awkward all of a sudden and once more very red-faced, "Twenty-nine."

The woman resisted the urge to rest her hand over his reassuringly like she had seen Grif doing with Simmons earlier.

* * *

Doctor Emily Grey lived for knowledge, for facts. After all, she had been writing theses at age twelve. She'd started her career as a doctor then as well.

She had lost more than twice as many patients as she'd saved during the war. She had lost her parents, her only family, when still in her teens.

She had moved to Chorus following the ceasefire. She lived in a warehouse there.

Donald Doyle was getting ulcers from stress, just as Vanessa Kimball was going to collapse from exhaustion one day.

Some of the new recruits could be a bit of a handful. She had a new family now in the Reds and Blues.

Junior was Tucker's genetically engineered son. He had been trying to oh-so-subtly get his father and Wash to move in together ever since she knew him.

Sarge's weapon of choice was his shotgun. He had it with him even when he was asleep or taking a shower.

Carolina was taciturn and quiet. Her brother was called Leonard Church _or_ Epsilon.

Donut made the best coffee, and Frank "Doc" DuFresne had become smitten with him.

Kaikaina Grif was training to be a medic under Grey's colleague, Bones.

Sheila and Lopez were robots who were in love. Grey found that immensely fascinating, just as she found it fascinating that Caboose's best friends were somehow Church and a talking gun named Freckles.

Grif and Simmons were both head over heels in love with one another, and she knew now that she felt the same way for Sarge.

Yes, she liked listing all the facts she knew. It was important for everything to be accurate in Emily's life whenever possible.

* * *

"I'm thirty-one." She promptly told Sarge one evening when they were again sitting side-by-side.

He blinked, not quite getting what she meant, "Excuse me?"

"I'm thirty-one." She repeated for emphasis before turning to stare at him pointedly, "I'm afraid I don't date younger men."

For a moment, Sarge stared at her dumbfounded before a blush came across his face to match her own as he smiled awkwardly.

"I'm forty-two." He admitted, rubbing the back of his gray head of hair, "I know, I aged horribly."

"No, you're perfect." She leaned forward with a gleam in her dark brown eyes, "Older men are definitely a turn-on."

Then they were kissing, just like that. Given the warmth flooding through her body as Sarge's arms wrapped around her and she found hers doing the same, Doctor Emily Grey was quite certain this kiss would not be the last.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** My first side-story prequel for the "The opposite of war is…" series, as well as my first attempt at writing from Doctor Grey's perspective. I hope I did her character justice, and that the romance was enjoyable too!

That, as they say, is that! I hope that this side-story was a good fleshing out for the plot of the fic universe for everyone! :)

Thank you so much for reading it! :D


	6. Chapter 5

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Five:

The lieutenants were already waiting for Washington at the gates leading out of Chorus. Much to his chagrin, the blond couldn't help but sigh loudly at the sight when he also spotted a familiar suit of yellow armor amongst them.

Honestly, Kaikaina Grif only worked with the recruits two days a week, but her schedule was pretty sporadic every week to match her personality. The older soldier really needed to remind Bones to send a message his way whenever she and her apprentice decided on the weekdays that the medic-in-training would be joining their group for additional drills.

…Or, better yet, have them pick out a consistent schedule that they could stick to. That way, Wash would know when it was best to bring out his migraine medicine or, better yet, have something "urgent" pop up.

At first, the group didn't notice his presence, so engaged in conversation as they were with one another. All save Bitters that is, who was sulking disinterestedly close by all the same.

Andersmith was currently talking, his deep voice hushed but most definitely tinged with worry as he remarked: "Captain Caboose was beside himself with worry because Freckles had played _dead_ and he thought he was sick."

"I thought playing dead was one of their favorite games." Palomo looked puzzled at the conversation, having actually been the butt of said game before.

The kid had nearly had a heart attack when he had picked up a gun lying haphazardly on the floor. Said gun had suddenly spat out confetti and talked to him while Caboose laughed from behind a crate. Admittedly, Freckles had thought it less fun when the supply-runner dropped him a second later.

"When they plan it, yes." Andersmith's voice was still somber, "But last night Captain Caboose had been almost certain Freckles had actually _died_."

"You mean because of that weird power outage?" Jensen asked inquisitively.

This particular thread of conversation certainly piqued Wash's interest, and so he decided to let them carry on with it for just a little while longer before making his presence known. After all, he had been a bit unnerved by the power outage himself.

If it had affected not only everything connected to the power grid at Chorus, but Virtual Intelligences housed within their own self-powering bodies as well? Well, sufficed to say that could indeed be extremely worrisome.

"That's not all." Andersmith continued, "We ran to find Sarge to get him to look over Freckles, but evidently he was looking over Sheila and Lopez for the same reason too."

"They also just shut down while the blackout happened?" Matthews sounded alarmed.

"Then they came back online like nothing even happened seconds later." Jensen concluded, a thoughtful and analytical look clouding over her features, "Interesting."

"Sarge wasn't able to find anything out either." The older lieutenant noted, shaking his head sadly, "Poor Captain Caboose hugged his friend the entire night."

"You mean he slept with his gun?" The sheer ridiculousness of the notion was enough to get even Bitters to comment.

Kai scoffed and waved her hand at the question indifferently, "It's no big deal! Caboose and the crazy old guy do it all the time!"

While Bitters only gaped at her comment, Volleyball sighed and shook her head, "Well, I'm just glad it seems like they're all back to normal now."

Palomo nodded in agreement, smiling helpfully, "Yeah, I bet it was just a onetime thing. No biggie."

Wash sighed to himself. They could certainly _hope_ that was the case, at any rate.

He made a mental note to talk to Sarge later though, as well as the three Virtual Intelligences. He also decided to check up on Caboose as well, as no doubt Andersmith was already planning to do so the second they were done here.

Which brought him back to the current situation at hand that required his focus. Clearing his throat loudly, he waited for the younger soldiers to stand at the ready. It only took a few seconds, after which Wash turned to nod at Andersmith.

"I heard the last part of your conversation, Lieutenant Andersmith," the blond informed him, "And it actually falls in line with our exercise today."

The group exchanged curious glances at one another as Wash continued to inform them: "This training exercise will be a bit different from the norm. As you know, there were some odd power fluctuations all over Chorus last night." When they quickly looked at one another again, he promptly tried to reassure them with more confidence than he himself had currently, "Don't worry. It doesn't appear to have been anything too serious this time."

He continued when it looked as if the rookies weren't going to interrupt, "But it actually had me thinking that today would be an excellent opportunity to have you all check out the shield generators over on the outside of the walls. In order to help you get used to checking for outside tampering."

When no one said anything, Wash tilted his head slightly to regard them, "I know that General Kimball placed you into groups yesterday for future training, so you should get into those pairs now and split up the checkpoints amongst yourselves." He glanced over his shoulder at the imposing gate barring outside entrance to the city, "We'll meet back at the main entrance following the completion of your assignment."

Andersmith and Volleyball broke off into a pair, as did Jensen and a rather ecstatic-looking Palomo.

That left a nervous Matthews with a rather bored _and_ annoyed Bitters standing together, as well as one Kaikaina Grif standing amongst the pairs while waving her hands wildly in the air to get Wash's attention.

The genetically engineered soldier let out a long-suffering sigh, "Yes, Kai?"

"Which team am I going to be on?" She asked, "I want the one that is going to be the most fun!"

She was pointedly staring over at the Volleyball and Andersmith duo, grinning and waving to the blond young woman who waved back with a smile a second later.

Hmm, so it appeared that the younger Grif must have left with Bones before Kimball had tried her team-building tactic.

"Don't do something lame and stick me with you," Kai stated emphatically, turning back to the former Freelancer, "Because you're old and old people suck."

He tried, with _great_ effort and patience, to not shout back that he wasn't that old even though he supposed compared to these kids he was. Instead, the blond closed his eyes and counted to three before sighing again.

"These exercises aren't _supposed_ to be fun, Kai." He reminded her, gray eyes landing on the team of Matthews and Bitters before she could respond.

Now that he thought about it, Kai could actually help balance out Bitters' attitude and Matthews' temerity if she worked with them. At least for this first time, or she could just end up throttling Bitters if he was upsetting Matthews too much.

"You can work with Matthews and Bitters on this assignment."

He didn't even have to look towards his direction to feel Bitters shooting daggers at him with the lieutenant's eyes now underneath his helmeted visor. But, Wash chose to ignore it as the groups got underway.

The guards had already opened the gate to the outside of Chorus, and his trainees stepped outside to start on their assigned task. Once they were out of sight and the gate flared back to brilliant life, the former Freelancer sighed yet again.

"I could use a drink." He muttered under his breath, the tension in his muscles slowly receding.

"Wow. I never would have pegged you for the type of guy who wanted to have _that_ kind of fun so early." Someone joked behind him, voice warm and all too familiar, "Or, you know, _ever_."

Wash promptly turned around with the intention of telling Tucker to fuck off when he saw a smiling Junior standing next to his father and stopped himself. _Barely_.

Instead, he sighed once more, "How long have you two been here?"

"Long enough to see you fighting the urge to bang your head against something on account of Kai being, well, _Kai_ …" Tucker grinned, but then looked at Wash thoughtfully, "Since there aren't any recovery missions for a while, if you were serious about needing that drink I totally know a place. With food too."

He couldn't help but sigh again, which seemed to be a recurring pattern today, "It's odd how it seems like you keep showing up just to make sure I eat, Tucker."

"Hey! Food is important!" The younger man grinned mischievously and shrugged, "Besides, I have to make sure you know you're in fact _a human_ and need to eat like the rest of us even if you are a kick ass soldier."

Wash decided to ignore the pleasant feeling he received from that particular comment, "I suppose I might as well since I have free time until the group comes back."

The lieutenants' comm-links were not only linked to the guards should anything majorly out of the ordinary happen, but to his own as well.

"You're in luck too since the place I was talking about isn't too far away either." Tucker noted, apparently quite happy at Wash's agreement.

However, his expression took on an uncharacteristically serious look as he glanced at the closed gate, "Do you honestly think they'll find anything?"

Wash stared at the gate that the younger recruits had walked through and shook his head, knowing exactly what the dark-skinned man had meant with his question, "No. The fluctuation was far too quick to trace." He noted before adding quietly, "Besides, if it _was_ in fact some kind of tampering or sabotage, it would have come from within the city limits."

Tucker pondered that for a moment, his facial features eventually relaxing once more as he mused out loud: "I wonder how long it will take for them to figure that out since this is the first time they've checked equipment beyond the walls."

"It wouldn't shock me if they don't end up driving each other nuts first." Wash admitted, smiling slightly even though he was only partially joking on that count.

* * *

"I keep telling you I'm fine!"

Leonard Church was certainly good when it came to being loudly adamant while Carolina and Simmons remained seated close by, both saying nothing.

He was currently sitting on the exam table as Doctor Grey agilely moved around him with her scanner. The dark-skinned woman would occasionally stop to jot down a few notes on her nearby data-pad, or grab another instrument with which she'd seemingly poke and prod various other areas of Church's body with.

Richard Simmons was certain there was some kind of official medical terminology for what she was doing, but the words alluded him at the moment. Besides, it had _felt_ a lot like poking and prodding when the redhead had been examined earlier before Church. He supposed they should just be grateful that none of the mystery instruments the doctor was using had sharp or pointy needles attached to them.

Truthfully, having learned that he wasn't the only person affected by _whatever_ had happened had unnerved Simmons quite a bit. Underneath his bravado, he wondered if Church didn't feel the same. Carolina no doubt was worried over her brother, so the silence from her end wasn't all that unexpected.

Even Doctor Grey, usually incredibly cheerful and chatty over a wide variety of subjects, was unusually quiet as she continued with her examinations. That in-and-of-itself was just a tad unsettling for Simmons as it meant that the black-haired woman was far more worried about whatever was going on than she was probably going to admit at the moment.

"Seriously, come on, Carolina! Tell her to lay off already!" Church was partially begging, partially complaining to his sibling.

"Sorry, Church," she finally muttered under her breath at length, "But I am not taking any chances and neither should you."

There was something about the way the redhead said that which caused Church to stop in mid-complaint. He regarded her with dawning realization, his face suddenly unreadable.

"Is this because of what happened to the others?" He asked quietly.

Before either Simmons or Doctor Grey could even guess as to what they were talking about, Carolina visibly stiffened and glared threateningly at Church.

" _Don't_ mention that again." She warned him, as the two others in the room cast curious glances at one another.

" _Fine_." Church agreed reluctantly, as though this were a topic he had tried to get the Freelancer to talk about before futilely as he muttered something else under his breath, "You're acting an awful lot like Tex though."

Simmons winced at the mention of a disappeared friend, as well as how it seemed as if the temperature of the clinic had just dropped several degrees at the mention of her name too.

Carolina clenched and unclenched her hands, green eyes as hard as ice but burning _holes_ into her brother's skull all the same. Church flinched when he realized his mistake, suddenly looking apologetic.

"At least," she said at length, with each word dangerously enunciated so as to cut off any attempt of his to say he was sorry, "I cared enough to stay around, unlike _her_."

To be fair to Tex, they still didn't know exactly why she had just suddenly left following the end of the war. But, Simmons could certainly see why Carolina might feel that way. It was an extremely touchy topic for her.

Before either sibling could add further fuel to what was a stressful subject for them both, Doctor Grey stepped back from the cobalt-wearing cyborg with her hands up in the air.

"Finished!" She yelled a lot louder than necessary, no doubt to divert attention from the tense situation escalating in her workspace.

It worked, thankfully, especially when Sarge waltzed in a second later with Sheila and Lopez in tow.

"Is that right?" The older man asked in response to Doctor Grey's rather loud earlier declaration, "I just finished too."

 _Oh, thank fuck!_ Simmons had never in his entire life been more grateful to see his superior, especially since his entry helped divert attention completely from the familial argument that had nearly unfolded disastrously before them.

"Sólo porque usted nos hubiera ayudar a ejecutar los diagnósticos. En nosotros mismos." _{"Only because you had us helping you run diagnostics. On ourselves."}_

Sarge nodded his head gravely at whatever it was that he thought Lopez had just said, "You're right, Lopez. My mechanical genius surprises even myself sometimes!"

"No se podía incluso me programar para hablar un idioma que nadie entiende aquí de forma remota." _{"You couldn't even program me to speak a language anyone here remotely understands."}_

Sarge nodded again, expression somber, "But the sad truth is we didn't find anything."

"Here I was thinking that would be fucking good news." Church muttered under his breath.

"Only because you're a cowardly Blue." Sarge shot back, adding quickly, "No offense."

"I'm pretty sure there was some, but I'm too relieved to be getting off of this exam table to really give a fuck." As he spoke, Church jumped down to the ground without waiting for any cue that he should.

"Finding something would also perhaps mean finding out what had caused the power outage in the first place, Church." Sheila, ever the peacemaker, informed him.

He huffed, "So long as it doesn't happen again, I could really care less."

"It would be ideal if that turned out to be the case, however…" Sheila stopped and looked down at the floor, obviously in distress as she trailed off.

It was enough to cause a slight tinge of worry to cross over Church's face due to their friendship. Lopez wrapped his arm around her in a consoling gesture, apparently not bothered at all to provide a comforting moment to someone he cared for in a room full of onlookers.

In a way, Simmons was almost envious of that confidence although it was such a touching gesture that he was nearly overcome with tears not a second later. But, because that was a tad embarrassing and Sheila's reaction had him both concerned and curious too, the redhead covered up that inclination by asking in an only slightly watery voice, "You two were affected by the power outage too, Sheila?"

That was more than likely considering that Sarge had been examining them while the two cyborgs were here with Doctor Grey.

Sheila nodded, "Not just us. Freckles was as well."

"What happened?" This was the first time that Carolina had spoken since her near explosion at Church earlier, once again all business.

Church actually seemed interested too, and Simmons felt his own stomach, or what passed for it now at any rate, tightening up in knots.

"It was as though we were forcibly shut down." Sheila recalled, her gunmetal green frame shuddering, "When I returned online, it was with a jolt. As if this body had been destroyed and I'd been placed in a new one without realizing it. _Again_."

The last sentence was akin to a whisper, and Simmons knew even without her directly saying so that she was referring to when she had first become " _Sheila_." After all, she was apparently the offshoot of another Virtual Intelligence.

Lopez hugged her tighter, recounting his own thoughts despite everyone's lack of understanding towards them.

"Fue horrible. Me POWER hacia abajo a veces alejarse de lo que la gente, pero nunca así." _{"It was horrible. I power down sometimes to get away from you people, but never like that."}_

This time, Sheila was the one who gripped his shoulder reassuringly. They stared at one another as though they were the only two in whole room. _Fuck it_. Simmons was _not_ going to cry over how touching and sweet that was! He wasn't!

Church coughed awkwardly, "Sounds awful. Sorry, Sheila. Lopez." He frowned, "Guess it's a good thing it only lasted for a short time."

"Who's to say that will be the case the next time though, Church?" Carolina countered her brother's point with a question of her own, "That's why we need to figure out what caused this in order to prevent it from happening again!"

"Yeah, I fucking know." He grimaced, "I just don't want to deal with it right now, okay?"

"It was the same with Caboose's talking gun-dog." Sarge decided to step in again before things got heated once more between the two siblings, "I'll run some more tests on him next if I can convince Caboose to actually let him go for a moment."

"He doesn't know that I got sick yet, does he?" Church asked, the prospect clearly not one he would like to ponder given how clingy the younger man could be.

"We've tried keeping him out of the loop." Sarge seemed to understand what Church had meant, "No point in the kid worrying himself to death over the both of you."

It was bad enough how distraught Caboose had no doubt become over what had happened to Freckles given how attached he was to the Virtual Intelligence. He would be downright inconsolable if he realized that Church had been affected by whatever had happened as well.

"Thanks for the peace of mind." Church paused, then muttered, "Also, for not worrying him anymore than necessary too. I guess."

"Don't mention it. I just didn't want to worry the poor kid anymore." Sarge sighed and shook his head before glancing around the space and remembering what the three of them had stumbled into earlier, "Did we interrupt something?"

"Nothing that wouldn't have gotten worse in a bad way instead of an entertaining one, love!" Doctor Grey assured him, flashing a bright and appreciative smile his way.

Sarge's cheeks dusted slightly with pink as he smiled at the flirtation before he coughed awkwardly and frowned, "So I take it that you guys had about as much luck as we did?"

"In that this whole thing was a complete waste of fucking time?" Church scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, "Yeah. Pretty much."

"We haven't found anything too serious. At least not yet." Doctor Grey confirmed, regarding Sarge seriously now herself.

Carolina opened her mouth, most likely to protest and say that there was clearly something serious going on even if they hadn't found it yet, but the doctor cut her off.

"We're not saying it isn't happening, just that whatever occurred had been for such a short period of time that we can't trace it. It hasn't left any lasting or lingering issues in its wake either." She explained.

Sarge looked at Church and Simmons next, "You two boys feeling all right now then, I take it?"

Simmons couldn't help but nod enthusiastically out of habit, "Much better, sir!"

Church rolled his eyes, "Terrific."

"What about you two?" Doctor Grey in turn asked Sheila and Lopez.

"A bit unnerved by the experience and the missing log that occurred in my memory banks due to it, but otherwise fine."

"No es demasiado confiado con él la investigación de nuestro lado de las cosas pero por lo demás bien." _{"Not too confident with him investigating our side of things but otherwise all right."}_

"So we can either _hope_ it lasts even longer next time to actively gauge what occurs. Or hope that it was just a one-time event." The dark-skinned woman concluded.

"The second one. Definitely." Simmons muttered under his breath.

The others nodded their heads in silent agreement. Save Sarge, who sighed in disappointment and muttered _"Spoilsports."_ under his breath at their lack of enthusiasm for mystery and the unknown.

"As great as all of this has been, can I go now?" Church asked suddenly, apparently deciding any contribution he had made to the conversation had long since been over.

Doctor Grey glanced at Carolina who remained absolutely still and silent at the question before nodding, "I have no reason to keep you any longer if you're sure you're feeling fine now."

"Great. I am." Church bolted from the clinic, only to swear under his breath when he nearly ran into Caboose, Doc, and Donut standing right in front of the now open doorway.

"Here's everyone!" Donut remarked happily upon seeing them while waving, "Hey, guys!"

"Church! I missed you!" Caboose immediately clung to the cyborg, sniffling, "Did you hear about what happened to Freckles?"

Before Church could get air back into his lungs to respond to that query from the blue soldier, Doc looked at the others in the clinic curiously, "What's going on?"

Carolina, however, ignored the newcomers for the moment. Which was understandable considering that she seemed relieved about her brother, but still unsure about the entire situation as she asked: "Is there any way to determine what happened?"

"We would have to set up monitoring devices to accurately measure the power levels in Chorus. They would be able to record even something like the power fluctuations from the other night." Sarge informed her, apparently relieved to see someone still showing a little initiative.

"I assume we have the equipment here?" The Freelancer got straight to the point.

He nodded, turning to glance in his subordinate's direction, "Simmons can help you find them."

The cyborg nodded, "Of course, sir!"

Carolina looked grateful for a split second before turning to exit, expecting Simmons to follow. She pointedly ignored Church as she left, though she did at least take the time to nod in way of greeting to the others.

"You know she was only worried about you!" Simmons could hear Doctor Grey chastising Church as they walked away a second later.

Leonard Church sighed through Caboose's bone-crushing hug, "Believe me, Doc-Lady. I know."

* * *

Thankfully, the side room of the warehouse where they stored the equipment was a non-cluttered mess. It wasn't used as often as other rooms were, so it was one of the few in the warehouse where Simmons' organization process actually stuck for longer than ten minutes.

The cyborg pointed to the shelf where the small, thin rectangular devices were, "Those are them."

Carolina looked around the room for a moment before retrieving the assorted pieces of machinery, "Sorry that I dragged you here since I don't know where this stuff is."

"It's understandable since you and Wash are often busy elsewhere." Simmons shrugged off the apology of the woman some people mistook for his own sister given their similar hair and eye color. The redhead had never had siblings, but Carolina would have been an awesome one. She never even seemed insulted by such remarks since she considered all of the Reds and Blues her oddball family.

"I _should_ be coming in to check up on everyone more though." The older woman said with a frown, before smiling somewhat, "Especially since I actually _like_ the atmosphere here."

Before the maroon-wearing man could respond, she turned around and looked at him in concern, "Since Church is insisting he's fine, how are _you_ feeling in light of all of this?"

Simmons became awkward and fidgety at the regard as that was his go-to response whenever someone asked over his wellbeing, before finally working up the nerve to answer. "Like Church, I feel fine now." He informed her, "It seems like whatever happened was a temporary setback, even when compared to some of the other side effects I experienced before Doctor Grey and Sarge's adjustments."

"Church suffered horrible headaches before Chorus," Carolina recalled, a distant look crossing over her features before she shook her head and glanced at him once more, "I imagine it must have been even harder for you due to the extent of your injuries."

Simmons thought that was debatable given how Church's cybernetic implants where directly linked to his brain, but he remained silent. The other cyborg had clearly suffered some long, undermining trauma involving them that neither he, Carolina, nor Wash ever seemed keen on discussing.

"Which is why I think that is all the more reason to be prepared even if I hope it was just connected to the fluctuations and that they were temporary." Carolina concluded, nodding decisively, "Better to not have anyone suffer more if we can avoid it."

Simmons was both surprised and touched by her comment, though he brushed it off with a sigh all the same a second later, "I still wish the whole thing hadn't been blown out of proportion on account of Grif telling Doctor Grey about what had happened to me."

Carolina actually _smirked_ knowingly in response, "It's because he cares about you a lot. You know that."

Simmons felt his face get incredibly hot even under his partial face plating, desperately trying to think about how to change the subject as he somehow managed to mutter, "M—maybe. I'm still going to yell at him later for it."

"I would expect nothing less from the two of you." Carolina's smile widened slightly, "If Grif hasn't shown up by the time we put these devices up, I'll gladly help you track him down to get the chance, Simmons."

For a split second, Simmons _almost_ felt a bit sorry for Dexter Grif. _Almost._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** A few more little plot hints and reveals were had! :D I am trying to make these chapters a bit shorter than in my previous multi-chapter work, so hopefully they will get out a bit quicker. So, they'll probably be around ten to fifteen pages in length usually. Hopefully this will help keep those waits from getting way too long! :D

Thank you very much for reading this chapter, and I hope that you enjoyed it! :D


	7. Chapter 6

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Six:

Despite the argument that had been looming between them earlier, Leonard Church _almost_ missed Carolina just then, especially with his ever growing exasperation over all of the distant chattering going on around him.

His friends, as he supposed he could call them now, just really didn't know when to be quiet. Most of their conversations seemed to still be on the lingering mystery of the blackout and, while Church did _almost_ think that warranted some concern, being in a position to hear what they were actually saying instead of just muffled bullshit would be nice.

The proceedings were certainly not helpful in regards to his desire to maintain an apathetic mindset, that was for sure. How could one not get somewhat annoyed with Sarge and Grey, along with Sheila and Lopez, making googly eyes at each other from the clinic's interior? Or with both Donut and Doc trying to be polite and involve him in some kind of conversation he was barely paying attention to while Caboose loudly tried to monopolize his first best friend's attention in the background of the warehouse near the clinic entrance?

Not only was Church yet again quickly developing a headache, but the current situation made him nearly yearn for even the tense standoff he'd been having with his sister over what had happened to his other siblings and Tex.

The irony being that the arguments that started because of those particular topics usually resulted in even _more_ headaches further down the road, particularly in regards to that last subject. It wasn't like he was in anyway _less_ upset with his ex-girlfriend's decision to just walk away without giving any form of closure to anyone.

It was just such a _her_ thing to do that he didn't see the point of harping on it. But, still, even Church could acknowledge that it stung way more than he'd care to ever admit.

With the way things were going now? His yearning for their complicated off-and-on-and-off-and-maybe-on-again relationship was saying something. Something that his brother Delta would have no doubt described as " _completely illogical_."

The dark-haired man took in a deep breath, about to tell everyone to go fuck off and leave him alone, just as an unfamiliar voice threw itself into the dinge nearby: "Well, it certainly gets lively here, huh?"

Caboose, momentarily stopping in his rambling concern for his gun, turned around to greet the newcomer behind them, "Hello, new friend from before!" he shouted loudly into the hallway.

"Caboose, remember your inside voice," Doc gently chastised the blond while acknowledging the newcomer's presence all in the same breath, "And hello again!"

"Hey, Felix!" Donut said in way of greeting as well, "What brings you here?"

Sarge had joined their group by the doorway as the others in the clinic were still apparently holding back to discuss something more amongst themselves. It seemed that the newcomer's arrival had piqued the leader of Red Team's curiosity.

"There isn't another reclaiming mission, is there?" The older soldier asked the man in steel-and-orange armor, tilting his head and looking disapprovingly at the trim of the man's clothes, "Or are ya wanting help in choosing a less disappointing color for your armor?"

"Um, no? I make this _work_." Felix's response to Sarge's comment was immediate, and it _finally_ clicked in Church's brain that he was one of the new mercenaries.

"Well, we're always here should you ever come to your senses." Sarge responded bluntly.

Felix looked at the older man strangely, before shrugging his comment off a second later to address the group, "…Right. Hope you don't mind that I let myself in. No one was by the entrance."

"We have a _very_ open front door policy," Donut assured him, smiling brightly, "And a really open back door one too!"

For the sake of everyone's continued sanity, Felix wisely chose _not_ to comment.

Instead, he grinned, "Since it seems like a certain scary lady isn't here at the moment," Church bristled at the description of his big sister since just because it was fucking true didn't mean that just anyone could _say_ it as the mercenary continued, "I figured this would be my best bet to get that tour. I'm pretty curious about this place."

"Oh, sure, we'd love to give you the grand tour." Donut seemed thrilled at the prospect, as did Caboose and Doc, "If it's okay with you, Sarge?"

The older man shrugged, "Fine by me, so long as you don't forget where the booby traps are this time."

"Booby traps?" Felix raised an eyebrow at Red Team's leader, not sure if his comment was meant to be taken seriously.

"A soldier's always got to be prepared to defend his home base to the death!" Sarge stated matter-of-factly before nodding his goodbyes and turning to rejoin his doctor girlfriend and the two robots inside the clinic, obviously deciding that the mercenary wasn't a diabolical threat at the moment.

"Here's to hoping he didn't add any new ones he's forgotten to tell us about. Like that last time!" Doc commented brightly, crossing his fingers as he did so.

"The sleeping darts were not a fun surprise." Caboose chimed in.

"You guys are a colorful bunch, huh?" Felix laughed, seemingly a bit unsure about his three tour guides.

Church could care less though as he turned to leave in the opposite direction down the hall. Even without Carolina's earlier lecture, personal experience had taught him it was best to not get too involved with strangers.

He muttered under his breath as he walked away, "Yeah, well, best of luck to you and prepare to be bored."

"You wouldn't happen to be the scary lady's brother by any chance, would you?"

The mercenary's question caused Church to stop in midstride. Felix was looking at him acutely just then, apparently overhearing his comment despite how low the cybernetically enhanced man had said it.

Church turned around slowly, back stiff and suspicions raised, to glare at the steel-and-orange trimmed mercenary with a withering look that would have made both his sister _and_ Tex proud.

Felix took a step back, hands in the air in a pacifying gesture, "Hey, relax." he told him, "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. It's just that your _sunny_ disposition reminded me of her." The mercenary looked thoughtfully at Church, "For some reason, she hadn't wanted us to meet yet."

"Oh, that's because Carolina likes to be cautious." Doc informed him.

Before Church could end the conversation there, Donut stated helpfully, "Also probably because Church isn't exactly a people person."

Church admirably resisted the urge to hit his head against the wall. No, seriously, he really believed he deserved a goddamned medal for having to deal with this shit.

Felix stared at him a moment longer, brown eyes glancing over the slightly visible lines of circuitry on the sides of Church's skull, before smiling and shrugging, "She probably had her reasons."

"Yeah." Church muttered once more, "I'm going to go now."

As he walked away thinking that he probably needed new friends, he overhead Felix saying, "So, about that tour?"

Church gritted his teeth. _Fuck it._ He couldn't help but think that Donut was probably right about him not being much of a people person.

* * *

With the little amount of time that Vanessa Kimball had taken since getting her cup of coffee to so much as _look_ down at it from the reports she was engrossed in, let alone to actually drink it, it wasn't much of a surprise that when she brought the mug to her lips it was already ice-cold.

The genetically engineered soldier made a face while taking a large gulp anyways. Hot or not, she'd need all the caffeine boost she could get to make it through today. The reports from the previous day were certainly energy-draining, to say the least, which wasn't even putting into account every other thing she still had left to do on her agenda.

"Really," Cass had come over the second she had made a face at the cold liquid in her cup seeing as how the dark-skinned woman was the only customer currently in her bar at this hour, chastising her friend gently while topping off what remained of Kimball's coffee with gloriously hot liquid straight from a steaming pot, "You can't even put those reports away for two seconds?"

Underneath the question was an undertone of concern that often came up in the conversations that the two had regarding the Chorus leader's work as Kimball smiled gratefully for the top off and waved her hands at the myriad assortment of datapads surrounding the counter, "Clearly not. Besides, if I left Doyle in complete charge for an entire day, let alone for a few hours? Chorus would likely be a burning hole in the ground."

The brunette frowned, shaking her head slightly, "Come on. You know that last part at least isn't true." Cass told her, "He's always done a great job with all of the administrative tasks we _both_ know a certain someone here doesn't have the patience for."

Kimball sighed, knowing far too well the truth in that statement whether she wanted to admit it or not. She didn't have the patience or knack for that sort of thing, whereas Doyle took to the challenge with aplomb. It was something she could be almost envious over, perhaps even admire a little. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.

"I suppose I'm a bit like your husband in that regard." She noted to her friend instead.

The bartender smiled wistfully, fingers ghosting over the ring hanging around her neck as she reminisced softly, "He never did like having to do those sorts of things, did he?"

It occurred to Kimball just then that, just as she had with military endeavors, Doyle had helped the previous leader in much the same capacity as he was helping her currently. He had been rather beneficial to Chorus back then too, which had largely been the reason for both of them being labelled as his joint successors following his untimely passing.

She couldn't help sighing again. Clearly she _was_ capable of recalling and recognizing strengths in her co-leader, so she couldn't figure out why she nevertheless tended to always get so flustered with the older man still.

No matter. It wasn't like there weren't other issues at hand to take her pick of rather than fixate again on Donald Doyle of all people. Going back to the readouts from the other night would maybe help keep her mind from dwelling on the matter too much.

Her coffee was quickly becoming cold once more. Just as Cass had decided to pour the distracted woman another cup, the door to the establishment opened and a familiar voice sounded out incredulously.

"Tucker, why are you taking your son to a _bar_ for breakfast?"

Kimball turned in her seat, seeing Agent Washington standing perplexed in the doorway. The blond seemingly poised to go into lecture mode yet again at the drop of a hat while glancing at the menu pinned to the wall next to the doorway. Apparently Wash had never been here outside of evening hours before. Standing next to the Freelancer was Lavernius Tucker and his ten-year-old son.

"Because it doesn't become a bar until nighttime? They have the best pancakes here, hands down." Tucker replied as he and Junior both waved a friendly greeting to Cass as she left to go to the back to make their regular meals.

Both men seemed surprised at the sight of Kimball by the bar, though Junior simply smiled and waved, a gesture that she couldn't resist reciprocating.

"It's rare to see you outside of Armonia or not out on the field." Wash remarked to her in way of greeting.

"I could say the same of you." Kimball tilted her head with a knowing smile, "Tucker's making sure you're eating?"

"You know it!" Tucker grinned, both men seemingly ignoring their faces heating up as Junior and Kimball both shared a conspiratorial look, "Still, surprised to find _you_ here. Wouldn't peg this type of place as your type of restaurant."

"Normally you'd be right." Kimball smiled, "But Cass is a good friend of mine. Besides, it's usually pretty quiet here in the morning."

It was then that the adult males noticed the datapads surrounding her. In particular, their attention seemed to be drawn to the one directly in front of her that displayed some kind of list.

Kimball noticed their regard, "I'm looking into the power fluctuations from last night, along with fine tuning how to best utilize our new mercenary friends."

As expected, both men paid special attention as she continued, "Locus gave Doyle further suggestions on how to best use their unit, so I'm reviewing that to offer my own input."

"Makes sense." Tucker said, appearing to visibly relax with the knowledge that that was all she was doing. Wash still seemed on edge, but managed to cover it up well enough by not saying anything.

"There may be another salvage mission soon too, so better enjoy those pancakes while you can." She advised the dark-skinned man before turning curiously to Wash, "How has my idea with the lieutenants been working out so far?"

Wash couldn't help but grimace slightly at her reminder, "Well, we haven't heard that anyone has died or gotten into a major fight yet. So, there are at least some positives going for it."

* * *

If he had to stick around Kaikaina Grif for much longer during this training exercise, then Bitters was seriously going to contemplate shooting himself. He was immensely grateful given that they were _finally_ down to checking on their last two checkpoints.

Matthews was bad enough to deal with considering his kiss-ass attitude and everything, but the youngest Grif sibling was definitely someone who could drive him up a wall quicker than even most others could. Which was _really_ saying something, all things considered.

"Hey! Since you're both being about as fun to hang around as a boring orgy without any smoke machines or rave music, mind if I check this one out by myself?" Kaikaina asked, motioning with a tilt of her head to the next nearest bulkhead.

Bitters shrugged, not really caring a ton either way as he glanced around the wall and shielding that protected Chorus. Truthfully, it would be an excuse to leave her presence for a few minutes and his brain could certainly use the respite.

He didn't even focus on her insult from earlier, "Knock yourself out."

"Cool. Yell if you need me!" With a friendly wave that was directed more towards Matthews than him, the young woman turned to jog over to her destination. Once there, she opened the bulkhead to wave her diagnostic scanner over the shielding mechanics inside.

In every bulkhead, there were output posts for power flow outside the walls, and input posts on the insides. Somehow, the wavelengths and circulation of both was what created the energy shielding of Chorus. Bitters supposed someone like Jensen could explain it in better terms, but so long as it worked he didn't really give a shit about the technical lingo.

Of course, the tan-skinned girl's absence left just him and the extremely nervous guy in yellow trim to check out the bulkhead that was farther away. The genetically engineered lieutenant sighed, shifting the heavy equipment used to open the bulkhead with in his hands while the bespectacled Matthews held the lighter scanner.

"Let's go." Bitters stated in a voice that just dared someone to try and argue with him before turning to the younger man.

"Y—yes." The scared kiss-ass replied, scrambling to keep up with Bitters.

Truthfully, their assigned task was a fairly easy one. Besides, they had already done several checkpoints now, so they had developed something of a system. Bitters had done several similar activities when he had been even younger as well. Too young, really, to be trying to check something over with the looming threat of getting shot constantly on his mind.

While he was caught in something akin to melancholic nostalgia, the two rookies finished checking the bulkhead. As expected, they found there was nothing wrong with this one either.

Bitters sighed in exasperation while Matthews did so more in relief, resealing the bulkhead in welcome silence. The genetically engineered soldiers then turned to rejoin Kaikaina. _Finally_ Bitters could call this waste of a training exercise quits.

They had only taken a few steps when the auburn-haired lieutenant fidgeted awkwardly next to him, "S—so, the weather is…ah…" Matthews glanced at the ground, at the sky, at the wall—anywhere but at Bitters, which annoyed him to no end for reasons he couldn't quite identify, "The weather around Chorus sure is nice, isn't it?"

Bitters did not exactly feel like chatting at the moment, and certainly not with his overachieving comrade. He still couldn't figure out why the younger rookie was even here in the first place, but assumed that maybe an uncomfortable reminder of their differences would get the other rookie to leave him alone, so he scoffed, "It's the same type of weather you'd find anywhere." Bitters told him, shrugging indifferently, "I've slept out in the open in much worse."

 _That_ certainly seemed to do the trick. Matthews was silently looking straight ahead, and Bitters couldn't help but smirk that his guilt trip worked. It would make working with the kid a lot easier.

That is, until Matthews surprised him: "Me too."

The admission was a quiet one, and Bitters stopped in midstride to glance questioningly at the other youth. Honestly, at first, he was about to call bullshit. But, the haunted, reminiscent look on Matthews' face halted him.

"Volleyball, Jensen, and I…." The rookie continued, "On our way to Chorus and even before, we'd sleep out in open fields even in pouring rain or sleet. To keep a clear view of things."

There was a shudder through Matthews' frame, and Bitters could almost picture the three adopted siblings huddled together for warmth and support while out in a lonely and cold place somewhere.

A part of him was _angry_ that they'd had each other when he'd had no one, that familiar rage which was always his base gut reaction to things. But another, less familiar part of him felt guilty that he had assumed things about Matthews before that clearly weren't all that true.

"Hey…" Bitters trailed off, about to at least attempt to start a proper conversation for once in his life just as Kaikaina came into view, waving the two over in a bored manner.

"Are the lights supposed to be different colors or what?" She called out as they approached, "They're all gray to me."

Bitters felt his aggravation rising once more. Seriously, why did she suggest their group split up in the first place? She should have known her colorblindness would be a goddamned issue!

As they rejoined her, Bitters risked another glance at an unknowing Matthews while the auburn-haired rookie engaged Kaikaina in conversation, deciding that now he _might_ be curious enough to learn more about his teammates if nothing else.

* * *

Dexter Grif headed back to the warehouse, hoping to check in on Simmons and possibly sneak in a third or fourth breakfast while he was at it. He doubted Doctor Grey or Sarge had gotten permission to electrify the fridge yet.

The steps he took to get there were so familiar by now that he didn't really need to see where he was even walking to get there. Which was probably a good thing, as his mind was focused on one person in particular who so happened to not be resting in bed at all like he _should_ still be doing, but was instead standing with Carolina of all people by a public information terminal. The two were fitting an odd-looking rectangular device into the machine's inner workings.

Grif did a double-take and swore. The fucking kiss-ass couldn't even stop being a damn nerd for two seconds when he really needed to!

Even forgetting that Simmons might be mad at him for having told Doctor Grey about what had happened during the blackout, Grif stalked over to the two. Carolina noticed his presence out of the corner of her eye, but the redhead didn't comment on it beyond a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Is helping Carolina out right now really the smartest thing to be doing given what happened earlier?" Grif managed to make the question sound like a joke despite the terseness in his words.

Simmons stiffened at the sound of his voice, the flesh portions of his face going red in embarrassment before that apparently was replaced by anger a second later as his thoughts caught up with him. As the cyborg stood to face Grif, Carolina took over with whatever they had been tinkering with, giving Grif the distinct impression that she did so simply to give them a moment to themselves. He couldn't tell if he was grateful for that or not.

Simmons let out an annoyed huff, "I'm _fine_ now, Grif! You can even check in with Doctor Grey to make sure if you want," the anger in his voice was unmistakable by this point as he pointedly narrowed his eyes in Grif's direction, "Especially since you told her about what had happened before even though I asked you not to."

"So what if I did?" Grif countered defensively, "Excuse _me_ for being concerned about your fucking health!"

"I told you I was just tired and didn't want to bother anyone!"

Grif only managed to avoid rolling his eyes with immense effort, "It's _not_ a fucking bother if it's about your health, Simmons!"

Simmons blinked, apparently taken aback somewhat by how adamant Grif was being though he still wanted to prove his point, "But—!"

The redhead was cut off by nearby movement. Carolina had finished whatever it was that she had been doing and stood up. The green-eyed woman must have noticed that Grif and Simmons were currently standing directly in front of one another on the street, only a few centimeters apart.

Before their shouting match could escalate into even larger territory with such close proximity, she looked at them both in fond bemusement while taking a deep breath in and cutting over their argument with her own sharp voice, "You two can continue your lovers' spat on the go. We're finished here."

Carolina shot Grif a look before he could so much as open his mouth to protest, "Grif, since you're so much more energized than usual and are obviously concerned for Simmons, you'll be a great help too."

Both Grif and Simmons cursed under their breaths and turned somewhat red in the face once more, this time from something other than just frustration. The genetically engineered man tried to get Simmons to look at him just then, but the redhead refused to meet his gaze rather doggedly.

That conversation could have gone worse, but it could have gone better too.

He was still mad at the redhead for not resting and taking it easy when he should be, but at least now the slightly older man had the chance to observe Simmons to make sure that the cyborg was all right. Even if the opportunity meant skipping out on more breakfasts and having to do _actual_ work.

Hopefully, soon enough he would be able to make sure that Simmons was now in fact okay so as to quiet his own worry on the matter and to make it worth all the of the effort he so rarely liked to exert.

With that notion firmly in mind, Grif didn't even complain more.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Next up, Grif and Simmons talk, only to get even more awkward together while Carolina continues to be amused by their antics. XD Plus, two familiar faces make their plot important introduction that will also have a lot of significance for future story updates! :D

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was fun to write! :) As always, thank you very much for reading! :D


	8. Chapter 7

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Seven:

It turned out that the strange, unknown devices that Dexter Grif had seen Carolina and Simmons setting up were actually some kind of energy monitoring machines. The devices were being used in the hopes that those in Chorus could trace back any new potential power fluctuations.

Grif assisted by placing the objects in various locations all over the city, though his meager contribution to the project was mainly with helping to open and then reseal bulkheads after Simmons or Carolina linked up a device to the insides of a computer or machine. One of them would then make sure it was working properly.

Though he was glad that the others were taking the potential of future power outages, and just what they might do to certain cyborgs, a bit seriously, the tan-skinned soldier wasn't quite sure what this particular tracking method would do in the long run. Particularly when Simmons let it slip after placing one of the last of the devices that the odds were good that even if the fluctuations repeated, which Grif really hoped they didn't, they likely wouldn't pinpoint exactly _what_ was happening.

"You're fucking kidding me," the chubby man's exasperation was evident with his long-suffering sigh, "Then why bother setting them up at all?"

It seemed like a whole lot of wasted work. Grif was someone who didn't even _like_ productive work all that much. Or at all, really.

Simmons sighed himself, his voice sounding both weary and as if he was patiently trying to explain something to a child, "Because hopefully we'll at least be able to use them to locate the source of the trouble or find some kind of pattern." His eyes took on a serious look a second later, "Both Kimball _and_ Doyle were concerned enough to ask about the fluctuations, so anything that helps to give _some_ peace of mind is a good thing."

Grif supposed he really couldn't argue much with that point, so he regarded Simmons carefully for a moment before sighing once more before muttering under his breath, "I'm really hoping this will turn out to be a giant waste of time."

Thanks to his stupid enhanced hearing, however, Simmons heard him anyways. The cyborg frowned as he berated Grif: "You just don't want to do any more work than you have to."

Maybe that would have been true any other time for the lazier member of their team, but since it wasn't true in this particular instance Grif bristled, "I'd _rather_ just not have to worry over something else happening, Simmons."

"It's better to be prepared than just hoping nothing major comes around, Grif!" Simmons shouted back.

There was a loud clanging noise as Carolina finished attaching the last device to a nearby public terminal and closed the control panel. Grif and Simmons' bickering stopped in just under two seconds flat as she cleared her throat to further gain their attention.

"Simmons, since you're more the electronics expert you're in charge of checking the readings later." She informed the skinny man before turning to the slightly older one standing next to him, "Grif, since you're so concerned about hoping this past blackout was a fluke you'll help him out."

"Understood." Simmons agreed rather readily.

"Ugh. Fine. If I have to." Grif mumbled, less enthusiastically.

Knowing the nerd like he did, Simmons was probably figuring he could check the readings by himself during those early morning runs of his that he was rather hush about. The redhead probably assumed that Grif wouldn't be up then to bother or distract him, and that the genetically engineered man had only agreed to Carolina's order so that he could avoid the former Freelancer beating the crap out of him. The joke was on the cyborg since Grif could already see the wheels turning in the other man's head.

Even though he was less than excited about getting up earlier than one in the afternoon on non-work days or about doing _more_ work, his concern over the fluctuations and especially over what they had done to Simmons had made his agreement genuine. When all was said and done, the kiss-ass would just have to deal with Grif tagging along to keep an eye on things.

"Are you truly that concerned by such a brief power outage from the night before?" All three started at the sound of a familiar, gravelly voice as they turned around in unison to see Locus standing behind them.

The mercenary was staring in a manner that seemed both disinterested and assessing all at once. His dark eyes rested on the spot where the equipment they had just put into the terminal rested now behind the metal plating as he continued to speak before any of them could respond to the question, "I suppose I can understand that given how important power is to a settlement like this." Locus paused for only a moment before adding, "I certainly hope that no one else has experienced difficulties as a result of it."

He regarded Simmons pointedly just then, lingering on the telltale signs of his cybernetic enhancements. The look was not lost on the socially awkward Simmons, who flinched slightly under the scrutiny, or on Grif, who frowned and actually stepped in front of the other man protectively.

Nor was it lost on Carolina. Her frown deepened and she took a warning step towards the mercenary, "What did you mean by ' _anyone else_ '?"

As if for the first time realizing how he might be coming across, Locus shook his head, "Nothing too terrible, I assure you." He told them matter-of-factly, "Only that we have a few cybernetically enhanced soldiers in our unit who were affected by the outage."

When he noticed the sudden concern lighting up their faces, he added, "It was not serious enough to warrant medical visits, but it had me _concerned_. I simply wanted to see if others had similar experiences."

The former Freelancer's frown somehow deepened even _more_ at that bit of information, "I wasn't aware that your unit had any cyborg members." Carolina noted pointedly to him.

"Nor were we aware you had any in Chorus." Locus tilted his head slightly, "It didn't seem to be a topic worth bringing up, given the climate of the world now. Cybernetics are simply understood to exist. Would it shock you to know we have genetically engineered soldiers as well?"

Locus' pointed stare turned to Grif then, causing the chubby man to flinch and Simmons to step a bit closer to him. How did Locus know or even suspect? It wasn't like Grif wore a sign around his neck, and he went out of his way to not showcase his odd trait too openly. Carolina glared at the all too obvious indication as well, pondering the mercenary's words.

"If it would make you and the others here at Chorus more at ease with our continued presence here," Locus spoke up before any questions could be asked of him, "An information exchange could be done. Information on our soldiers for information on the soldiers of Chorus, so everyone knows exactly what and who they are dealing with."

Grif and Simmons exchanged glances with one another before looking over towards Carolina to see her response to the proposal.

"Medical records would be helpful," she finally said at length, "But I'm fairly certain the only information you'll be given access to currently is a fairly standard database that requires administrative permission first." Carolina sighed, "I'll pass your suggestion on to our leaders, along with my own opinion. If you want to speed up the process, you should bring it up to them yourselves."

Locus stared at her. It was fairly obvious that the woman's personal recommendation would be for the mercenaries to not be given _any_ intel but, even still, he nodded slightly in her direction, "Thank you for the advice."

With that, he was gone as quietly and as quickly as he had snuck up on them. _Creepy as fuck._ Grif let out a breath he hadn't know he had been holding until just then, Simmons shuddering close by.

Carolina let out a loud sigh before turning to the two of them, "Tell me that Sarge has the holographic training room up and running."

The aforementioned room was located in the basement of the warehouse. It was one of Grif's least favorite areas on Chorus, mostly due to Sarge's penchant for using _"Holo-Grifs"_ as target practice.

Simmons, ever the know-it-all, nodded in response, "I—I think so."

Carolina looked relieved, "Good. I'll have to talk to Doyle and Kimball about this. Odds are good I'll want to shoot at something later. Or kick things." Before either of them could respond, the redhead smiled slightly, "Thanks for helping me out with this, guys." She stated before waving as she trudged off.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the two men left in Carolina's wake. It was finally broken with an awkward fidget from the cyborg as he glanced towards Grif's direction.

"You know that I'm still mad at you for telling Doctor Grey, right?" Simmons asked.

Grif raised a black eyebrow in challenge, "You know I'm still annoyed at you for being so stubborn about the whole thing in the first place, right?"

The two glared at one another before sighing, the subject suddenly " _over with_ " for the moment in their minds. Putting stuff on the backburner was how they tended to deal with all serious matters. Despite that, Grif was still oddly anxious about the blackout, but Simmons didn't seem to catch on as he was instead looking thoughtfully at where the last device had been placed.

"You really think all of this will be necessary?" Grif asked instead of voicing anymore of his concerns about Simmons' health.

"It seems like it was probably some kind of fluke," the redhead admitted at length, "But it's better to be safe than sorry."

Grif bit down on the desire to argue that point, especially since a certain _someone_ had gotten mad at him earlier for doing just that, instead deciding to rub his stomach and whine: "You know, all of this impromptu work has really made me hungry."

"You're always hungry, fat-ass." Simmons rolled his eyes at the complaint.

"Worrying and getting upset only makes it worse." The tan-skinned man groaned, "Ugh, I'm dying!"

"I'm sure there is still some food left over at the warehouse. Come on." Simmons finally acquiesced, turning to head back.

Following that, they walked back in the direction of the warehouse in relative, more-or-less comfortable silence.

Grif glanced over at Simmons, and decided to take a chance and break it by stating quietly, "You know, I'm feeling a lot better now."

"Th—that's good, Grif." Simmons turned slightly red and didn't look him in the eye, no doubt trying to avoid thinking of just _why_ that was.

The reaction ( _was it from embarrassment or something more?_ ) had Grif staring at the cyborg for a long moment before he worked up the nerve to get to the matter at hand: "Seeing as how that's the case now, we should go out for our night on the town sooner rather than later."

 _That_ caused Simmons to pause and stare at him questioningly, "Wh—what?"

Grif shrugged indifferently before grinning slightly, "Well, Cass did promise you a discount on drinks, and you're such a good buddy I know that you'll let me sponge off of that!"

"It…it will have to depend on how things go at work and with retrievals." The pale man mumbled, somehow even _more_ awkward and red-faced than he had been before.

Grif reached out to grab Simmons by the shoulder in order to halt him and get the redhead to look over at him, surprising both himself _and_ Simmons in the process. A familiar hot tingle worked its way through his body at the contact, and he dropped his hand before his legs became noticeably more wobbly to either of them.

"Could you just consider not taking too long to decide again?" Grif asked, "Because otherwise things are likely to go the same way again."

Frowning slightly at the notion, Simmons finally nodded his head slightly. His tomato-red face was once again turned away just then, so the cyborg failed to see the grin that was plastered onto Grif's face.

* * *

Once they had headed back inside Chorus after their rather uneventful training exercise to give their reports, the lieutenants were all rather surprised when Agent Washington had decided that they had performed their task well enough to be given the rest of the day off.

Even Captain Tucker, who was with the former Freelancer at the time for some reason neither man went into, was so shocked by the blond's order that he nearly dragged the older man to the clinic to see if he was truly feeling okay.

After shooting an annoyed look towards the overly joking and amused Tucker's direction, Washington had gone on to quickly explain that his decision had more to do with giving the rookies some free time to chat amongst themselves in order to build up a rapport.

Personally, Bitters thought that the whole team-building endeavor was pointless, so he sat in the park nearby with the others while not really joining in on their chatter. He almost wondered if this was some sort of punishment, but the rest of the group seemed to honestly be enjoying themselves so that was probably more just him.

"I'm telling you, the way they've set up the warehouse now is really fucking awesome!" Kaikaina was talking loudly about the captains' usual place of business in Chorus, "You guys should really come and check it out more often! My big bro and the others can be fun to hang around with, even the lame and old ones."

"It is a rather fun place to help out at." Andersmith, who probably spent as much time at the warehouse as Kaikaina did due to his bond with Captain Caboose, agreed with her sentiment.

"I do like working on the salvaged vehicles there, even if they don't let me drive them." Jensen remarked, smiling slightly.

"Probably a good thing." Volleyball commented, poking her sister slightly in the side, "Remember when we stole that ground transport from those bandits?"

"I swear that ditch wasn't there when I'd looked earlier!" The other girl countered, embarrassed.

"Maybe having your eyes closed wasn't the best idea?" The blonde teased back.

"Oh, so you do that too?" Palomo asked, grinning, "I do that when I'm firing my gun sometimes. Captain Tucker and Agent Washington hate it."

"But you wonder why no one wants to stand next to you during target practice." Bitters mumbled under his breath.

There was only a momentary pause of surprise from both himself and the others at Bitters deciding to interject himself into the conversation before the group just rolled with it.

"W—well to be fair, they _were_ shooting at us." Matthews said in defense of his sister.

"Yeah, I wasn't as good under pressure back then." Jensen nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

That made Bitters wonder just what her excuse was _now_ since she still was a terrible driver, but he at least knew wisely enough of personal relations to keep a lid on that thought currently.

In a way, the flow of conversation was helping him learn small tidbits of information about his teammates without having to actively ask himself, so he supposed that _was_ in its favor. For instance, if for some reason he needed to find Andersmith or Kai when they weren't training, the odds were good that both of them would be at the warehouse or nearby that location.

Jensen often went to that area too to tinker on mechanical gadgets. Palomo, surprisingly, was helping to feed a colony of feral cats that had taken up residence within the city's walls near the warehouse's location.

Volleyball was actually spending her spare time there with Kai to research rudimentary first aid skills, while Matthews helped out either Captain Grif, Captain Simmons, or Jensen if they were at the warehouse. The auburn-haired rookie definitely fit the very definition of a " _suck-up_ ".

Apparently Andersmith _also_ had a bit of a crush on a bartender that a lot of the others would joke with him about, much to the older lieutenant's chagrin.

The genetically engineered lieutenant was so busy listening to the conversation going on around him in order to pick up information on his teammates that he didn't even realize Palomo was both talking and looking directly at him for a few seconds. Bitters blinked, taken aback by the sudden attention, "What?"

"Well, what about you?" Palomo repeated, his grin splitting his face from ear-to-ear, "Any stories from before you got here that you'd like to share? Or do you want to tell us what you do in your spare time?"

Bitters was honestly shocked that it seemed like the rookies were genuinely interested in learning about him given how much of an ass he had been to them. The eager regard they were giving him now made him feel oddly self-conscious, but he managed to mumble out: "There isn't really too much to tell. I'd been created for a mercenary unit. I was meant to be disposable, but the war ended before that happened so I made my way here."

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group then, and Bitters felt oddly compelled to fill it. "As for what I do in my spare time," he shrugged, "I mostly just sleep, get food, and check on equipment. Really boring shit."

The conversation seemed to start up again with that bit of defusing. While Bitters wouldn't admit it out loud, he _was_ somewhat glad that he hadn't irreparably destroyed the somewhat calm atmosphere permeating their park outing.

The park wasn't a spot he had visited too much while in Chorus, but it was peaceful. He could almost understand why so much effort had been made to maintain it despite, from a function stance, it arguably had no practical reasons to exist.

The rookie with the multi-colored hair pretty much figured his part of the conversation was over, so he went back to only absentmindedly listening. That is, until a sandwich was thrust directly in front of his face as Jensen smiled slightly, her braces gleaming in the sun, "Andersmith made them for all of us."

Wow. It looked like the older man was trying to win the group's Team Dad role or something. He awkwardly took the ham and cheese with lettuce sandwich from the younger girl, giving a slight nod of thanks towards both her and Andersmith, who was watching the exchange with what seemed like quiet satisfaction in his brown eyes.

Jensen's smile widened a fraction before she took her leave, and Bitters bit into the food hesitantly. Not bad. He'd definitely had worse growing up, that was for sure.

Absentmindedly chewing his bite, he didn't even notice Matthews sitting down next to him with his own half-eaten morsel of lunch. The glasses-wearing rookie glanced at him before awkwardly remarking, "Andersmith's a good cook, huh?"

Bitters shrugged, "It's just a sandwich, Matthews," he told him, but upon seeing how the auburn-haired lieutenant's shoulders slumped, he coughed around another bite, "But it's not bad. Eating with you guys isn't as much of a pain in the ass as I thought it would be."

Matthews smiled. Despite himself, Bitters found he was starting to do the same in response, until he caught sight of the mercenaries and completely lost his appetite. The Chorus newcomers were hanging out at the park as well.

They _seemed_ to be minding their own business, but every so often they would pause in conversation with their eyes going straight towards the chattering group of lieutenants. He had seen those eyes before and had hated them then just as much as he did now.

Hard, cold, assessing eyes that had only ever viewed him as a _thing_.

He shuddered and stood up, putting his sandwich into Matthews' hands before the other could ask him what was wrong. "I'm not feeling too great." Bitters said quickly in response to the question looming across the younger man's features, "You can have the rest of mine. You're too scrawny as it is."

Matthews noticed his gaze just then and frowned, "I—is it because of them?" He asked, voice quiet, "Do…do they remind you of your former unit?"

He was concerned and Bitters didn't have the heart to snap at him to mind his own business given that. If anything, the lieutenant in orange-trimmed armor was oddly touched.

"I don't know yet," he responded instead, "But I've got to go do something."

With that, the genetically engineered rookie left before Matthews or any of the others had time to really react. As he moved past them, he felt the mercenaries' eyes following him before once again turning to stare at his team. Bitters wasn't entirely sure why he felt as horribly apprehensive as he did just then.

* * *

Hours later, Leonard Church was still hanging around the warehouse and, _no_ , it wasn't because he had no friends outside of it like Tucker used to joke. It wasn't his fault there were so many annoying idiots out there! Honestly, the reason for his continued presence was just that the dark-haired man was _still_ annoyed with Carolina's overprotective big sister routine. Usually, working on his warehouse assignments helped Church power through life's major upsets.

Right now, he was gripping the tool in his hand as painfully tight as he was gritting his teeth while remembering how, when Tex had first left, Carolina and the others used to take turns making sure he ate something or had a break. Of course, such reminiscing had him _also_ thinking of said black-clad Freelancer. Which, in turn, made him even _more_ upset given how his and his sister's last conversation had played out.

Of course, there was the whole unsettling matter of Felix's impromptu tour visit as well. Thank _fuck_ the mercenary had already left so Church wouldn't have to worry about upsetting Carolina even _more_. That along with the power outage, which both Sheila and Lopez were still discussing over by the brown-armored robot's workbench in low voices with their helmeted heads huddled close together, weighed heavier on Church's mind than he'd ever like to admit.

He sighed out loud, thinking of these matters as several unpleasant ones that he would just as soon forget but was constantly forced to be reminded of all the same because life sucked.

"Church!" He nearly jumped out of his skin at Caboose's sudden exclamation from beside him, the younger man suddenly invading his space.

"Goddamn it, Caboose! What have I told you about sneaking up on people like that?"

From the blank look plastered on Caboose's face, it was apparent that the blond had no recollection of any such past conversation, "That if I did it well I'd get a pony?"

"No pony," Church raised a dark eyebrow, "And where the fuck did you even get that from, anyways?"

On second thought, the cybernetically enhanced man probably _really_ didn't want to know Caboose's thought process as he was fairly certain it would be all sorts of brain-breaking. He had dealt with enough headaches earlier already, so Church sighed and decided to ask upon a topic he was sure he would most likely equally regret but was regardless curious about: "Where's Freckles?"

If he could help reunite the two if they were playing another _"rousing"_ game of hide and seek, he figured he could get on with his life sooner rather than later. Besides, their hide and seek games weren't really too rousing. Caboose would leave Freckles somewhere, pretend to have not known where the gun was, and then get someone to help find him using _"clever"_ clues like signs pointed in the general direction of where Freckles was shooting confetti at random intervals.

Hell, Church was _almost_ looking forward to the mind-numbing break such an activity would provide, but he instantly regretted his choice of words when Caboose's face fell.

"The nice doctor lady and the red sergeant wanted to look him over due to how well he'd played dead before." Caboose informed him, looking for all the world like someone had just kicked his puppy.

"You mean during the power outage?" Church asked. He did recall that Sarge _had_ wanted to examine the Virtual Intelligence inside of the gun too given what had happened before.

Caboose nodded before glancing over at where Sheila and Lopez were sitting across the room, "They…they were playing dead too."

Church sighed again, not liking the way his heart tugged at Caboose's voice given that he was so much better at just being constantly annoyed by people than actually _caring_ about them, "I know, buddy."

"It was scary and sad." Caboose's voice was quieter than normal, more shocked and hurt, "I thought I'd lost more friends."

"Caboose…" Church trailed off as he debated touching the taller blond's shoulder or something though, since he was far from the comforting sort, his hand hung awkwardly in the air instead.

He dropped it when Caboose looked up at him, scared and earnest as he asked: "You're feeling okay though. Right, Church?"

Church was taken aback and blinked, nearly admitting what had happened in the face of the young man's earnestness but stopping himself. Adding to Caboose's worry wouldn't help anything. In fact, it would probably just mean a larger headache for him than he'd had before. Instead, since he was feeling fine now anyways beyond the usual emotional bullshit, he went for reassurance instead, "Y—yeah, I'm doing great, buddy."

For a moment, he thought Caboose saw right through his forced smile, but he let out a sigh of relief when the blue-armored man relaxed somewhat. "That's good." Caboose grinned, "Next to Freckles, you're my very best friend!"

That was probably because he had been one of the first people to ever remotely tolerate the genetically engineered _"reject."_ Church remembered how the two of them had first met, back when he had run away from everything and had just wanted to disappear. He had ended up _stupidly_ trying to defend an annoying blond kid from some assholes who had wanted the kid's talking gun, only for that to have been proved pointless once Freckles had interjected himself into the fray. Consequently, Church had been stuck with Caboose ever since, even when Carolina and the others had tracked him down.

Church sighed inwardly again, deciding to try the comfort angle once more, "Besides, Freckles and the others are back to normal now too, you know?"

Caboose nodded and, just as it looked as though he were about to envelope the dark-haired man in another bone-crushing hug judging by the grin on his face, Church found just then that he was never more relieved for Franklin Delano Donut's penchant for surprise pop-ins.

"He's right, Caboose! Freckles and the others are going to be just fine," the pink-armored soldier exclaimed happily, "In fact, we should have a party soon to celebrate and to blow off some steam! What do you say?"

Donut always found an opportunity to turn stressful events more positive. For once, Church was actually more relieved than annoyed by that ability of his.

"I like parties. So does Freckles," Caboose nodded his head enthusiastically at the idea, "Especially if there's ice cream."

"You bet!" Donut was practically grinning from ear-to-ear.

Church wondered if Carolina would have the patience this time around to accept the invite that both Donut and Caboose would no doubt be sending her way. He figured he possibly owed the redhead an apology, though he wondered if he would get one from her too given her legendary stubbornness.

Briefly, his mind flashed to Tex as well. The cybernetically enhanced man couldn't help but wonder what she would do in this situation. He imagined she'd probably be more amused but disinterested. Church sighed once again in frustration at his brain for once more going down that line of thinking.

"You know what?" Church said to Donut, shrugging, "Why the fuck not?"

Caboose and Donut seemed happy enough at the idea, so if the others felt the same? Well, he would never admit it out loud, but the dark-haired man secretly hoped that, if nothing else, a dumb-as-shit party would help his friends feel better.

* * *

Given the situation they were in, waiting without any contact for quite some time was not only boring, but also just a tad worrisome. Four Seven Niner sat in the chair her body could no longer leave, tapping her fingers on the panel in front of her while debating with herself about opening up the comm-link on her end to inquire about what was going on.

True, this had started out as a stealth mission and Tex was pretty good at dealing with just about anything, but their allotted time limit was nearly up.

For not the first time, the pilot wondered if agreeing to help the other woman's investigations was a smart move on her part or just another delaying tactic: something to keep herself from dwelling on her injury, or to keep herself from possibly fucking up a good friendship by bringing up _feelings_ when the other person was still grieving and in no position to process them.

She couldn't help but smile ruefully at that past thought in particular. As if she hadn't fucked things up in that department by helping Tex to begin with, though it was for a fairly good cause given what these scumbags were still doing even after the war.

Just as the tan-skinned woman's finger loomed dangerously close to the comm button, the door to the transport opened and Tex strode in, unceremoniously dropping a severed mech head onto the floor.

"What have I told you about leaving a mess on my ship?" Niner let out a weary sigh and gave a glare that could still make people quake in their boots.

Tex shrugged indifferently, "I'll clean it later," she promised before adding a second afterwards, "Isn't it more important that the mission was a success?"

"Depends on the intel," the pilot remarked, shaking her head, "And, no. Not really." Even though her personal life might currently be in shambles, she could take pride in making sure that her ship would _always_ be pristine.

"I found out a bit more about the main facilities these people are coming from." Tex motioned to the droid's head, "I say we plug this sucker in and get the coordinates it has uploaded. Then we can send out the invites to have a party of our own with the big shots."

"I do love parties." Niner mumbled under her breath.

"Wouldn't want to keep you waiting then. Think we can get to them before nightfall?" Tex plugged the mech's head into the control panel next to Four Seven Niner before she began cleaning up the mess she had left on the floor. Even the scary-as-hell redhead knew better by now than to test the pilot's patience when it came to the condition of her air transport.

"The coordinates should take only a few minutes to download, even with the heavy encryption they like to use." Niner scoffed, "As for getting us there before nightfall, are you forgetting who you're talking to?"

There was a loud ding before Tex could respond, signifying that the upload was complete. Niner barely glanced at the destination that suddenly came up on the control panel screen before she was once again at the controls, the transport humming to life all around them at the steady press of the pilot's fingertips.

"You might want to belt yourself in though." She advised her teammate for this venture, "I have a feeling this is going to be a super _crash-y_ type of ride."

Niner could just picture the anticipatory smirk on Tex's face underneath her helmet.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** So, not only did we have some more Grimmons moments, but Caboose and Church had a friendship one. Lol, I think it is always going to be a recurring theme in my stories that at some point Donut will pop in to suggest a party! Andersmith is totally Team Dad of the lieutenants, and there were some _slight_ plot revelations with the mercenaries too. Not to mention the introduction of Tex and Four Seven Niner into the mix, and who they are investigating is definitely _very_ much connected to the Chorus plotline!

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you very much again for taking the time to read this story in the first place. :D


	9. Chapter 8

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eight:

Richard "Dick" Simmons was fairly certain that he was going to puke, or faint. Or worse yet, but totally fitting for him, puke and _then_ faint.

He couldn't even blame the situation in Chorus for his even higher than normal levels of anxiety. Actually, for the last few days the cyborg and Grif had been helping to check the energy monitoring devices as planned, and thankfully so far nothing seemed amiss.

The redhead's stress today was due solely to the fact that, after a few days of things seeming relatively normal, he had finally both reluctantly _and_ eagerly agreed to Grif's continued suggestions regarding having a night out on the town.

Just the two of them. _Alone._

Of course, that line of thinking did nothing but help bring up memories of what had happened unexpectedly _another_ night when they had gone out on their own, promptly causing his stomach to do flip-flops again and even his pulse to quicken.

 _Grif's skin was feverish under his touch. Simmons couldn't help but moan himself when he heard the noises coming from the other man. He allowed himself to be pulled down onto the ground before his brain could list all the ways this could become awkward later…_

The cyborg gulped, running a hand through his suddenly sweaty hair. Damn it! He was already a nervous wreck and the night hadn't even begun yet!

Besides, his brain helpfully reasoned, there was no reason tonight would play out the same way that particular past night had. After all, Grif had already gotten his "fix" pretty recently. So, theoretically, the genetically engineered man wouldn't be primed for that kind of escalation.

Simmons tried hard to make himself feel relief at that thought instead of the intense wave of disappointment he was currently feeling. Naturally, he was failing miserably. The redhead wanted nothing more than to be able to just tell that little voice inside of him, the one that was currently stating that he should be fine with them just staying as friends, to go shove it.

Instead, Simmons realized he had been having an inner debate with himself for over twenty minutes while standing at the closed door that served as the entrance to the Grif siblings' apartment. His face went red from embarrassment at the realization even though no one seemed to be around to witness his odd behavior.

Things could definitely go horribly wrong depending on what happened tonight. It was a notion that the cyborg was terrified of.

But, he could still hear a small, hopeful voice in his mind. It was one that he had often tried squashing when growing up because believing in it had always caused more hurt than anything in the long run. If he listened to it closely, he heard the words saying that there was the chance, however small and fragile, that something could go _right_ tonight.

Taking a deep breath to try to calm his nerves, and failing miserably at it, Simmons knocked shakily on Grif's door.

* * *

Leonard Church really didn't need to guess as to who the perfunctory knock on his door belonged to considering that his sister walked inside a minute later. Evidently, the redhead had decided to not even wait for him to open the door or acknowledge her knocking in the first place.

"You didn't lock it again." Carolina stated without preamble, green eyes filled with disapproval at the apparent security breach she had just witnessed.

"Well, it's not like I'm expecting raiders to come in to steal my valuables or some shit," he rolled his eyes, "Though if they _did_ , they'd probably shoot me on the spot for wasting their time."

Carolina glanced around the sparsely decorated room as if to verify his statement. Sadly, wealth was not a huge concern for Church. Or, really, for any of the assholes he called friends.

Besides, Church spent most of his time at the warehouse. The cybernetically-enhanced man didn't need a lot of personal shit filling up a space he barely spent time in. Beyond his life-giving coffee maker, the only other remotely "personal" artifact in the space was a black helmet with a cracked visor on one of the shelves.

Tex had once given it to him jokingly as a "memento" after someone had nearly stabbed her in the eye on a rescue mission for him. Even though she had left without so much as a word, he had never been able to throw it away. After all, she had always been so amused to see it when she would stop by his room while laughing at how "whipped" he was.

For a split second, given how Carolina stiffened at the sight of it, he thought she would get angry. Instead, with a greater amount of self-control than he usually gave her credit for, the former Freelancer turned away from the cracked helmet to once more regard him.

"Still, you should be cautious." Carolina advised.

"Normally, I am. But, I was getting ready to head out." Church sighed, happy to avoid another "overprotective sibling" lecture.

Of course, he then saw the redhead's deepening frown a second later and realized that the possibility of getting away without a lecture tonight had just flown out the window.

"I'm not so sure I like the idea of all of you going out will things are still up in the air." Carolina admitted quietly.

Church sighed again, understanding her mindset a bit. The mercenaries had settled into life here rather nicely, but their presence still set his sister and, if he was honest even himself, on edge. However, the black-haired man was just trying to chalk it up to the paranoia he always felt around newcomers and nothing more than that.

They had never found out the exact cause of the blackout either. While Church was rather grateful the incident hadn't repeated, as he got enough migraines being surrounded by assholes to last a lifetime, ( _thank you in the most sarcastic way possible_ ), not knowing what had caused it in the first place also had him feeling a bit uneasy.

Still, he wasn't about to let Carolina in on that. She had more than enough on her plate to worry about as it was.

"You need to relax, sis," he advised her instead, "Nothing's happened in the last few days even with you and the others checking those energy readings daily."

It was true. She and Wash, along with Tucker, Grif, and Simmons, had been pretty consistent about monitoring the situation. So far, there had been no changes whatsoever in the power levels of the city since that one time. It had him almost wanting to believe it had all be some kind of big fluke before.

Carolina looked ready to argue further, so Church beat her to the punch. "Even though you know this is pretty much the last _fucking thing_ on this planet I want to do," he began truthfully, "I'd rather voluntarily spend time out partying with Caboose and the others instead of being locked up somewhere for my own safety again."

He hadn't necessarily meant for his comment to dredge up memories of their past in Freelancer. After all, it wasn't like any of the shit that had happened to him back then was remotely Carolina's fault. The redhead being concerned now was no reason to make her think he even remotely felt that it ever had been, but the goateed man saw her stiffen once more and realized how it had come across.

"I'm—" Carolina's tone sounded apologetic when she spoke, which Church couldn't stand so he cut her off.

"Don't worry about it, Carolina." He assured her quietly, "I know you mean well."

She relaxed a bit, and looked ready to try to speak again. But, there was so much about what had happened in their shared past that was still too painful to speak of out loud for both of them, so Church decided to bring the topic of conversation back to the matter presently at hand.

"I'll probably call it an early night since the others will be there. Besides, this whole thing is more for Caboose than anyone." He informed her, "Andersmith's even tagging along, so he'll be in good hands," Church smirked then, "I know they invited you too. A night on the town might do you some good as well."

After all, if _anyone_ deserved to relax, it was his sister. The former Freelancer shifted awkwardly, casting a glance over at the black helmet while her fingers absentmindedly touched a pocket where a familiar lighter was no doubt kept.

"I told them thanks for the invite, but I haven't been out too often since…" Carolina paused and trailed off, looking over at him with barely concealed sadness, "A lot of things."

Church knew, just as he knew that York's death was one of the major "things" she was referring to. The brown-haired man had always been the one to coax Carolina out onto nights on the town in the old days, with the only other person she ever shared drinks with on occasion beyond him being her missing pilot friend.

It was sad to think how something so simple and, in his opinion at any rate, so annoying could be so painful now to someone he cared for.

"I know," he smiled sadly, "But try to take it easy for once, all right?"

"I'll try." Carolina told him, voice quiet and eyes distant.

If he was being honest, Church wasn't too convinced by the redhead's tone.

* * *

"Remind me again how this is supposed to be a great idea?" Washington asked as he watched Lavernius Tucker emerge from Junior's room.

When Wash had come into the apartment earlier, the younger man had been helping his son finish up some homework and play a bit after dinner. Though neither of the two adults in the apartment had said so out loud, it had been something of a given that they would meet up with the others together.

That was their usual routine for these sort of events, at any rate. A routine of theirs that neither of them were in a particular rush or mindset to break. In a way, Tucker craved the routine. It often surprised him by just _how_ much.

He grinned at the question he had been pretty much anticipating coming from the blond at least once tonight, "Um, because you barely do anything remotely fun or relaxing for yourself as it is?"

Wash shot him a dubious look, "I somehow doubt this will classify as that either, Tucker."

Tucker couldn't help but nod given Wash's whole _stick-up-the-ass-when-it-comes-to-anything-remotely-fun_ shtick. The dark-skinned man had no doubt that this wasn't going to be an ideal situation for the former Freelancer, but a change of pace would do the guy a world of good.

So, Tucker would make sure the other man at least put _some_ effort in. Besides…

"It's mostly for Caboose." He reminded the older man, "This is Donut and Doc's way of taking his mind off of what happened, you know?"

Wash sighed at the reminder of how depressed the younger man had been over what had happened during the blackout to Freckles and the others.

"All right," he finally relented, "I'll make an appearance. For Caboose."

"Hell, yeah! It'll be like you're a celebrity!" Tucker couldn't help but grin.

"…I could leave without you." The former Freelancer deadpanned, though there was an amused glimmer in his gray eyes that Tucker always loved to see.

"Nah, then you'd just miss all of my charm and wit."

Wash looked as though he wanted to say something in response, but a knock at the door stopped him.

Given the time, that was no doubt Junior's babysitter. Sure enough, Tucker opened the door to see none other than Kaikaina Grif standing in the doorway.

The younger Grif grinned and waved as she waltzed in, "What's up, bitches?"

Wash paled at the sight of her, though that was replaced a second later with a look of surprise as he regarded the young woman: "You're missing out on a party to babysit, Kai?"

In a way, Tucker supposed that Wash's shock made a lot of sense. Kai used to babysit Junior quite a bit, and had _always_ been awesome at it, but she wasn't exactly one to voluntarily skip out on fun either. The reality was that she had a sense of logic that was all her own.

"Yeah, well, partying with old people is kind of lame," she informed the blond with a shrug, "And I haven't had some one-on-one time with Junior in a while."

She had grown fond of the little boy after helping to look after him all those years. Tucker couldn't help but smile at the notion, even if he bristled a bit at his inclusion as an "old person" in this case.

"He's playing in his room now if you want to say hi," he told her, "We've already said goodbye and everything."

She nodded, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, "Cool." There was a pause and she looked oddly hesitant before asking, " _If_ a friend were to drop in later, would that be okay?"

Tucker raised an eyebrow, "I'm fine with it so long as it stays G-rated and they aren't an asshole to my kid."

He trusted Kai to know who was safe to be around Junior after having helped to look after the younger female himself in the past, no matter how much of a wild child she could be.

"You've got it!" She grinned, looking relieved.

"Who's the friend?" Wash asked after Kai's reaction got an exchange of curious glances from the two men in the apartment.

"Oh! Um…" Kai actually _blushed_ as she trailed off, and suddenly Tucker was eager to know who this mysterious person could be.

However, before he could jokingly pry into it more using his over-the-top but brilliant "adopted big brother" persona, Wash _yet again_ showed off his tendency to a massive killjoy. "Never mind," the blond said quickly to help Kai save face, "It isn't any of my business."

She looked relieved, nodding her head gratefully in his direction, "Thanks, cop."

Wash sighed, promptly turning to Tucker with an obvious note of exasperation in his voice: "I'm ready to go. _Now_."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to join them?" Doctor Grey asked Sarge as they finished cataloguing some new parts that had been recently brought into the warehouse, "Lopez and the others, I mean?"

The older man wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, "Oh, for Operation Cheer-Caboose-Up-Without-Any-Explosions-Whatsoever?" Sarge scoffed dismissively at the memory of how the younger soldiers had all so readily vetoed his brilliant strategy before, "Not exactly what I'd like to do for my night out on the town." He sighed and smiled slightly before adding confidently, "I'm sure they'll be successful even without me tagging along."

Doctor Grey raised an eyebrow, looking amused. She pursed her lips thoughtfully before asking curiously: "How, exactly, would _you_ like to spend a night out on the town?"

He thought about it for a moment before looking over at her and blushing slightly, "Going to one of the outdoor shooting ranges in a little while and testing out some high-powered weaponry oughta do the trick."

Doctor Grey shot him a flirtatious smile and touched his arm, "You're always such a romantic."

* * *

"I…I don't know how I'm going to get through this." Matthews couldn't help but whine, burying his face in his hands from his spot near Jensen's workbench.

His little sister was hovering over the auburn-haired man's seat worriedly, having been the one who dragged him over to the chair to sit when she had noticed that the lieutenant was starting to freak out more than usual. Now, the young woman patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Well, you _were_ the one who invited Bitters out in the first place." Jensen reminded him gently, trying to get Matthews to focus on how big of a step that was to begin with.

He gulped, burying his head deeper into his hands with his palms pressing against his skull, "B—but I didn't think he'd say _yes_!"

Jensen tried switching tactics then, "Look at it this way: Palomo and I will be there too," she informed him, "So think of it as just any other group outing with friends."

He stopped shaking a bit and took a deep breath. Right, okay. _That_ he could do.

Instead of going by himself with a guy who unnerved him still, but who he _maybe_ was starting to get a bit of a crush on now that they had been talking more, it was just any other outing with some of the other recruits.

…Except Bitters had accepted his invite, the mental reminder of which brought the glasses-wearing rookie back full circle.

As if reading his thoughts, Volleyball decided to thankfully interrupt her adopted siblings' conversation from where she was sitting on the couch.

"You _do_ know Palomo is only going because he hopes something will happen between the two of you, don't you, Katie?" The oldest out of the three teased the other girl.

Jensen made a face and shook her head, "That's just your imagination running wild again."

That caused both of her siblings to look at one another in surprise. How was it that their youngest sister could still be so oblivious to the huge crush that Palomo had developed on her?

Deciding it was probably best to not go into that currently since Jensen had a stubborn streak a mile wide, Matthews looked to the blonde, "Are…are you sure you don't want to come, Volleyball?"

Safety in numbers and all that. Matthews had a feeling he would be less likely to make a fool of himself if both of his siblings were there.

She smiled and nodded her head, "Sorry, but I want to enjoy tonight and hopefully not be tempted to punch anyone."

He knew who she was referring to with that and sighed, burying his face in his hands once again and wondering what had possessed Bitters to say yes to his invitation in the first place.

* * *

Dexter Grif felt oddly queasy and a little nervous, though eager all at once.

If he didn't know any better, he would almost equate it to the usual signs that his body was nearing needing release again. However, the genetically-engineered man had long since come to accept the fact that his feelings regarding specially designed, more private moments with Simmons felt rather similar.

…For reasons that he probably shouldn't dwell on right about now given the soft knock on his door. Honestly, the cyborg was the only person Grif knew who would bother knocking on his door that politely.

Burying the sensation down as best he could, the tan-skinned man rolled his eyes at the nerd's perfunctory habits before hitting the panel lazily to open the door. Sure enough, an awkward Simmons was standing there.

"You could just come in, you know." Grif chastised him teasingly, "It's not like you don't have the combination memorized."

Simmons' face turned even redder at the reminder, "A—at least I have manners, jackass!"

"Of course you do. Goes hand-in-hand with being a kiss-ass." The slightly older man couldn't help but counter jokingly.

"Sorry, but I didn't want to barge in on something private!" Simmons huffed.

Maybe that was a bit too on the nose given what had happened before, because an awkward silence descended on the pair.

Grif sighed, hoping they could get past it quickly and bury it down like they usually did.

"Whatever, nerd," he told him, an oddly sincere note entering into his voice as he smiled slightly, "I'm just glad you decided to come this time."

The parts of Simmons' face that were still flesh and blood went to a shade of crimson that would make Sarge immensely proud, and he sputtered in a nervous way that indicated he was at a loss as to how to react.

Before he could begin to even start to formulate some kind of a response, Grif exited his apartment and grabbed the redhead's arm to pull him towards the lift to go downstairs. He lazily leaned into the warmth that flooded throughout his body just then at touching Simmons, a large grin on his face.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** More of a set-up chapter for the events to follow, but sort of necessary! There's going to be quite a few big plot points happening in the next couple of chapters, so look forward to them!

Ah, and it just occurred to me even though she doesn't make an appearance in this chapter that I have never said my head-canon for how Four Seven Niner looks. For some reason, I always picture her looking a bit like Josephine from _Dragon Age: Inquisition_. :)

Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope that, even though it was more of a set-up one than anything else, it was still an enjoyable read. :) I also hope that what's to come next in the story will not disappoint! :D


	10. Chapter 9

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Nine:

Richard "Dick" Simmons really wasn't sure what to make of the fact that Cass' bar was so busy this particular night.

Granted, he'd already agreed to going there and there was _no way_ he'd back out now because he knew Grif would tease him relentlessly over it, but large crowds like the one he currently found himself facing made him feel horribly uneasy.

Besides, the cyborg had been to the bar before and had even enjoyed the atmosphere there, which is probably the main reason why he wasn't giving in to his desire to bolt right about now. Well, that _and_ because he was here with Grif.

Dexter Grif glanced the redhead's way, his usual apathetic mockery mixed with actual concern, "You okay, nerd? You look ready to pass out."

Simmons took in a deep, shaking breath and quelled his unease long enough to glare at the other man, "I—I'm fine, dumbass," he shot back, "I just didn't think there would be so many people."

"Yeah, it is a lot tonight." Grif agreed, lazily looking around at the crowd that had already gathered at just the front entrance of the building.

Several were familiar faces from around Chorus, but intermingling with them were quite a few new people that Simmons had only seen in passing so far. Most likely they were the mercenaries that had recently joined. The redhead wondered if they partied often like this, or if this outing was on account of being new to the area and celebrating.

"You want to go somewhere else?" Grif questioned him, oddly tentative.

Simmons blinked, shaking his head, "No! Here's fine."

After all, he'd have to get used to this eventually. Nothing screamed _"I'm trying to get out of my comfort zone!"_ better than just jumping right in.

Grif looked ready to question him again, so Simmons raised an eyebrow mockingly, "Are you _seriously_ going to waste the opportunity to use the discount your friend gave me?"

 _That_ did the trick. Grif had grabbed his hand and was pulling the lankier man inside, face flushed at the contact _and_ at the prospect of mooching off of Simmons' promised discount.

The bar itself was even _more_ crowded than the outside had been. Given the mass of bodies inside, Simmons couldn't help but wonder what the maximum occupancy for the establishment was. He was fairly certain it was being exceeded just then by such a large percentage of patrons.

The cyborg was just about to say so to Grif over the din of noise at the no doubt risk of being called out for being a nerd, but a loud voice cut through the air before he was able to do so.

"Are you guys out on a date?"

Felix, one of the mercenary leaders, was standing behind them with a joking grin plastered on his face, though his brown eyes seemed sharply focused on their reactions to his question. The mischievous mirth there only intensified at Grif clearing his throat and looking away while Simmons spluttered and turned redder in the still flesh and blood portions of his face.

"It's really…" Grif began trying to explain but trailed off, glancing at Simmons as if worried he really would faint at any moment.

Felix held up his hands, "Hey," he informed them, "No explanation necessary!"

He glanced behind him just then, Simmons and Grif starting at Locus suddenly looming there as well. The freelancer in steel-and-green armor seemed horribly out-of-place in this environment.

Behind the two mercenaries was a large table filled with what appeared to be several of the more boisterous and raucous of their own crew.

Felix noticed their regard and grinned, "What did I tell you before about being stuck with a conversationalist like this guy?" He gestured towards his partner, "Sometimes I just like talking to anyone else to hear some actual fucking words."

"Felix." Locus' tone was one of warning.

Felix rolled his dark eyes but otherwise ignored his partner, "Anyways, we'd promised our group a night out to celebrate our new arrangements." He motioned to the group behind them, "Last time we were in a place like this, things got wild. But, we'll try to keep it in check."

The orange-trimmed mercenary winked and tilted his head towards both Simmons and Grif before offering them what sounded like conspiratorial advice: "Best to enjoy tonight. You never know how many ones like this we'll get."

Locus nodded his head slightly in goodbye before both mercenaries turned and rejoined their group.

Simmons relaxed marginally once they were gone. Though Felix's words and advice seemed friendly enough on the surface, something about the whole exchange had set him a bit on edge for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Of course, those particular anxieties fell to the back of his mind when Cass spotted the two of them a second later.

"Hey! Good to see you guys," the brunette greeted them, winking mischievously and patting Simmons on the shoulder, "It's especially good to see you! I hope you're keeping Grif from being too much of an idiot."

"Hey!" Grif stated indignantly from nearby.

"Um…" Simmons' face had once again turned a truly impressive shade of red as the woman guided him over to a table in a small alcove slightly away from the hoopla of the crowd.

"I figured you might want a quieter place." She told the cyborg, her expression a friendly one.

"Th—thank you." Simmons got out awkwardly, wishing for what felt like the umpteenth time that he wasn't so terrible with speaking to most women.

"Have they been a handful?" Grif asked curiously, motioning behind him to where the mercenaries were gathered.

"Beyond acting like they haven't been out in years? Not really." Cass grinned, "I'm keeping a tab though. Just in case."

It was probably a smart move from a business standpoint. Considering how busy the place was with the added mercenary patronage, Cass even had to take their orders in a hurry without a lot of the friendly small talk her bar was known for.

Simmons stared at Grif in disbelief after she left to get their order started. " _Five_ entrees, Grif?" The redhead asked him incredulously, "Really?"

Grif shrugged, "Well, I _am_ trying to cut back, Simmons."

It really didn't shock Simmons in the slightest that the chubby man would consider that " _cutting back._ "

The cyborg sighed mostly to himself, "And here I had a hard time trying to figure out what to eat or drink."

The slightly older man shook his head in a gesture that was both pitying and mocking, "That's because you need to learn to live a little, Simmons."

Simmons bristled slightly at the remark, "I—I know how to—!"

He was cut off by an all-too familiar voice exclaiming loudly into the bar: "Oh, this is going to be the best party _ever_!"

Caboose and an entourage that even included a less than enthusiastic-looking Church and a surprisingly hesitant Carolina, had just entered the building. The blond Caboose was grinning from ear to ear with Freckles in tow, the expression only a match for the smiles found on both Doc and Donut's faces.

Simmons hadn't realized that their respective nights on the town would lead the group here as well, though he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised considering how small Chorus still was.

He caught Grif looking over at him, a conspiratorial nod of the genetically engineered man's head indicating that they were probably thinking along the same lines just then.

"Pretend we're not here?" The orange-wearing man asked to confirm it.

Simmons nodded, "Pretend we're not here."

The two then tried to make themselves as inconspicuous in the alcove as possible to avoid detection from their friends.

* * *

Vanessa Kimball sighed, finally managing to put down the datapad she had been working on for the last several hours. She glanced over at the time display on her terminal, surprised to note that she had somehow managed to finish her work a bit earlier than usual. Her last order of business had been simply to review a potential future salvage mission to an area that may have been overlooked, so it had been nothing drastically time-consuming.

She frowned, tapping her finger idly on her desk. Normally, for anyone else free time would be a cause for celebration, but the sad truth was that the dark-skinned woman so rarely had time not consumed by her duties that she was honestly at a loss as to how to handle it now.

She was still mulling the problem over in her head and wondering what else she could possibly review to kill time when there was a tentative knock on her door. The Chorus leader glanced up, surprised to see Donald Doyle of all people standing there.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, looking decidedly nervous, "Is this a bad time?"

Kimball was on her feet in an instant, already moving past her desk when the _"What is it?"_ flew from her lips. Given how rare it was for Doyle to actively seek her out, her mind was racing over countless worst case scenarios to explain his presence.

"Oh!" Doyle seemed to pick up on her thoughts, the older man shaking his head quickly, "Everything is quite all right, I assure you."

The genetically engineered soldier frowned, stopping just a meter or so away from him.

Doyle fidgeted awkwardly under her questioning gaze, "Er, I don't suppose we could have a moment?"

That was when she glanced down and noticed in the blond-haired man's fidgety hands the last thing she would have expected to see there.

"Is that brandy?" Kimball asked, pointing to the bottle.

"Yes," Doyle's cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced down at the object in question, "It was really Cass' idea. She said something about this being your favorite brand."

"Well, she's not wrong."

Though why Cass would try to get her to relax with a few drinks again through Doyle of all people _was_ a bit questionable. Until it hit her: this was the bartender's way of getting them to try to play nice together for once. She'd have to thank her friend quite loudly, and colorfully, for this later.

Kimball smirked, raising a black eyebrow in challenge, "Can you even stomach brandy?"

After all, Doyle didn't strike her as doing much in the way of heavy drinking.

His face took on an indignant hue, "Of course! I'm sure I'm better at it than you, Miss Kimball."

"Uh-huh." She doubted that very much as she crossed her arms over her chest, "You do realize this is just a ploy to get us to act civilly towards one another?"

Doyle frowned and gave a slight nod before glancing from Kimball to the bottle in his hands and back to her again. "Well," he stated at length, voice hesitant but oddly hopeful all at once, "It would be quite rude to our mutual friend if we didn't at least give it a try. Don't you agree?"

Kimball was a bit surprised at his willingness to play along. Besides she didn't want to back down and lose face following his rather surprisingly sensible viewpoint. Still, as she nodded and let him inside her office, she opted not to tell the older man that she had a strong tolerance for alcohol all the same.

Sitting at the threadbare couch that was often substituted for Kimball's bed, they opened the bottle and readily toasted to Chorus since that was seemingly the one sentiment they could at least always agree on. As soon as the toast had died from their lips, it was replaced with the rim of glasses and the burning sensation of alcohol down throats a second later.

Kimball had to admit with a slight smile on her face that going along with Cass' plan might not be so terrible after all.

Particularly once she caught a glimpse of the pained face Doyle made at the liquor's taste.

* * *

At this rate, Agent Washington and Lavernius Tucker were definitely going to be fashionably late to the party.

Truthfully, Tucker didn't really mind. If Wash wanted to meander through the less crowded areas of the city to help him relax before they went to what was no doubt a hopping bar scene, he could roll with it.

He glanced at Wash through the corner of his eye only to see the other man fidget nervously once more. So, for a venture that was, in theory, supposed to help him relax? Well, the blond was getting awfully fucking anxious.

"You okay, dude?" Tucker finally blurted out when Wash just stopped by a small side street that seemed to still be in the midst of repairs.

Wash glanced around nervously before he blinked, staring at the slightly younger man, "What?"

Tucker sighed, "You've been acting weird since we left the apartment," he informed him, an understanding look crossing over his features, "If you _really_ don't want to go, that's cool too, Wash. The others will understand."

Realization crossed over Wash's features then, and he shook his head awkwardly, "No. No, I still want to go."

"But you wanted a private moment with yours truly before we got there, huh?" Tucker grinned mischievously, nodding his head at his own assessment, "Totally understandable."

The blush that suddenly came to Wash's cheeks at Tucker's teasing was too damn priceless, though what the former Freelancer said next in an oddly serious and not at all exasperated tone gave Tucker pause and a refrain from laughing.

"Well, something like that. Yes." Wash admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Come again?" Tucker did his best to ignore the odd pick up of his heartrate that particular statement caused.

The blond glanced over to the side street once more, taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Tucker, there's something I've been meaning to show you."

"You've already seen mine, so I guess that's fair," Tucker tried joking to get Wash to stop acting so nervous, "A side alley wouldn't have been my first choice, but hey! I'm not picky."

"What?" The genetically engineered soldier's face took on a vivid hue as Tucker's joke sunk in, "No, that's not—!"

Tucker laughed and Wash immediately stopped trying to explain himself to sigh to himself instead.

"I figured," Tucker admitted, turning a bit more serious a moment later, "So what is it then?"

Wash relaxed slightly now that the teasing was apparently over with before motioning towards the side street once more. Tucker took the lead, stepping past partially built buildings and rubble cast in the soft light of the lamps above their heads, stopping short at the sight past that.

A small group of cats were weaving in and out of tiny structures that had been clearly set up with their needs in mind. When a few of the friendlier creatures moved a bit closer to inspect the stranger in their midst, the dark-skinned man noticed bowls of clean water and food were scattered around too.

He also noticed that the cats seemed especially interested in the former Freelancer who was standing next to him, as if the blond was an old friend of theirs. The slightly younger man curiously looked at Wash as the other bent down with the same sort of gentle smile on his face that he gave to Junior, rubbing behind one of the feline's ears.

Wash blushed under his gaze, "A lot of cats were left to fend for themselves due to the fighting," he explained, "And the older ones are all feral now. But, we're taking care of them as best we can. Even got help spaying and neutering them."

"'We'?" Tucker was surprised, as this was the first time he had heard about this. If one of their friends had been involved, he would have known in about two seconds flat.

"Lieutenant Palomo was taking care of them before we arrived here." Wash explained, "When he found out that I liked cats, he asked for my help."

Who knew the genetically engineered kid had a soft spot for stray animals? Tucker wondered if maybe he should try to be a little less judgmental towards his over-eager shadow. Not that he'd ever share that with the rookie.

Tucker wondered just how many free hours the two invested in this project to keep it looking as well-maintained as it did.

Seeing as how he was rather impressed with the quality of care on display at the feral cat colony, he couldn't help but ask, "Why'd you wait so long to show me this? It's fucking incredible."

Wash looked up from the cats sheepishly before admitting: "I wasn't sure you liked cats."

"What?" Tucker scoffed in mild indignation, "I hope you know every single one of Junior's cat plushies has a name picked out by yours truly!"

The dark-skinned man reached down, allowing one of the cats to tentatively smell his fingers. Tucker couldn't help but grin when the animal rubbed up against him, glancing over to see Wash with an unguarded, warm smile on his face. His heart skipped a beat again. Dumb thing. Maybe he should get that looked at some time.

Tucker swallowed, looking away, "We should totally bring Junior here one day. I bet he'd love to help you out."

"About that—" Wash began.

Tucker sighed and cut him off, "He's already been here, huh?"

A nod, "He adores cats."

"I know," Tucker grinned proudly, "You should see his plush army at bedtime."

The two remained playing with the cats a bit longer, with Tucker helping Wash refill the food and water bowls.

They were just finishing up to head to the bar when Wash cleared his throat. "You know, the last of the kittens will be weaned soon." The former Freelancer mentioned, voice oddly hopeful.

Tucker smiled before assuring the blond: "I'll think about it."

Wash smiled again, and the teal-wearing man was rather pleasantly surprised at how happy and _right_ being there felt.

* * *

All in all, Kaikaina Grif thought it had been a pretty fun evening.

Volleyball had come over around the time that Tucker and the cop had left. The two women played a few board games with Junior and shared crazy stories from when they were growing up.

Kai noticed that Volleyball's stories always dealt with the time after she had met Jensen and Matthews, while hers were always dialed down to G-rating, of course. Which sucked _major ass_ since that meant she had to edit a ton of shit, or sometimes practically reinvent whole situations from what had really happened. But Junior seemed to like the stories so that was cool with her.

Who needed a lame old people party when you could have Grade A entertainment like this?

Have fun until you drop from exhaustion if there was no school the next day was always Kai's first rule for Amazing Babysitting!

Which was no doubt going to happen soon with how much yawning the little guy was doing.

When Junior went to his room to grab a coloring book, Volleyball smiled after him. "This was actually fun," the blonde admitted, turning to her, "Thanks for the invite, Kai."

"No problem," Kai stretched as both young women stood up to give their legs a break from sitting on the floor with Junior, "It was cool hanging out without reviewing First Aid for a change."

Volleyball hummed appreciatively, "Junior's a great kid too."

"He is, isn't he?" Kai exclaimed excitedly in agreement, "I always have fun watching him."

"I can see why." The genetically engineered soldier's smile widened.

"Just think, tomorrow we'll be able to tease our siblings on how their dates went." Kai grinned in anticipation, "I'm so pumped!"

"Poor Matthews will have a heart attack if I tease him too much," Volleyball told her, looking thoughtful, "And Jensen? I don't even think she realizes this _was_ a date."

"You can live vicariously through me then." Kai assured her, "Teasing Dex and Simmons about when they're finally getting together _never_ gets old."

No, it was a little frustrating because the dumbasses _should_ totally be together by now, but the teasing never went out of style.

"I might take you up on that." The other young woman stated while Kai noticed that Volleyball's smile was _so perfect_ and her eyes were the color of the sky, one of the only colors the younger Grif could really see.

Kai suddenly leaned in and kissed the lieutenant quickly on the mouth, the tingle running through her body confirming how amazingly soft Volleyball's lips were. As her genetic predisposition ran its course and her impulses got back in line, the tan-skinned girl became aware that she impulsively kissed her friend and that said blonde was standing still in shock.

"I'm…I'm sorry!" Kai blurted out quickly, blushing in a way that was so not like her, "That…that wasn't because I'm close to needing release or anything! You just looked so hot and—!"

Kai forced herself to shut up for fear of digging herself in further since, for a few long moments, there was only silence.

At length, Volleyball touched her shoulder and reassuring warmth flooded through Kai at the contact.

"If you ever _do_ need someone for that, Kai," the blonde told her reassuringly, "I'll always be there for you."

It was the best thing Volleyball probably could have said to let the other woman know that everything was still okay between them.

Kai relaxed a bit before winking, "Then I really wouldn't mind trying something later," she flirtatiously remarked teasingly, " _If_ you can put up with me."

"I think I can handle myself." Volleyball smirked back defiantly.

When Junior came back into the living room a few minutes later, coloring book and crayons in hand, he found the two young women sitting on the floor again still waiting for him. Only, this time, they were holding hands.

* * *

By the time their group had arrived at the bar, it was incredibly crowded.

Seriously, was this the _only_ bar in all of Chorus or something?

Antoine Bitters sighed.

The genetically engineered soldier was not exactly looking forward to having to deal with a ton of people, but he supposed he couldn't really complain about that at the moment considering he had accepted an invite to this dump.

Miraculously, they managed to find a smaller, empty table to claim. The table itself seemed designed for only two people, though they made it work with the four of them. Bitters had to keep himself from thinking too much on how close he was sitting next to Matthews given the tight positioning of the four chairs around the tiny surface.

Out of the corner of his eye, the rookie with multi-colored hair could see Andersmith hanging out with Captain Caboose, Bones, and some of the others who worked at the warehouse. Andersmith waved to their smaller group before both Bones and Caboose dragged him off, a gesture that the four returned despite the older lieutenant probably only being able to see it for a split-second.

"Normally it's not so crowded here," Katie Jensen remarked over the noise, "And they have really great food!"

"Yeah, their drinks are awesome too!" Charles Palomo chimed in.

They had gotten some beverages on their way to the table, and Bitters had to admit that the dark-skinned rookie wasn't wrong on that front. Matthews was nodding to what they were saying, but not really adding his own opinions.

Bitters wondered if the younger man had frequented this establishment as much as his friend and sister seemed to. He himself certainly hadn't, which made the apathetic lieutenant wonder why he had agreed to come here in the first place.

Bitters glanced at Matthews seated beside him, knowing that he probably _wouldn't_ have bothered to come if anyone else had been the one to ask. He was currently trying not to dwell too much on why that was.

"It seems nice," Matthews said at length, "Though probably not my usual cup of tea."

"Not mine either." Bitters remarked, noticing that the auburn-haired man was now looking at him worriedly since he had been the one to extend the invitation. Picking up on the other's train of thought, Bitters quickly added, "But it's nice enough with present company."

Matthews smiled in relief, his face turning red at the same time. Bitters tried not to focus on how _cute_ that made him, choosing to drink instead. Neither of the two rookies quite had the desire to make eye contact, glancing every which way awkwardly while odd sort-of smiles loomed on their faces.

Jensen seemed to be watching them rather attentively, taking a surprisingly huge swig of her drink as she did so.

"Hey, Palomo," she suddenly spoke up, turning to the young man trying to soak up the atmosphere of the place next to her, "What was that you said earlier about a cat colony you wanted to show me?"

"Oh?" Palomo blinked in surprise, "You mean like _now_?"

"Yeah." She turned and looked over at the other two lieutenants at the table with a smile on her face that showed off her braces, "No time like the present, right?"

Matthews' face became even redder, his mouth opening and closing as his sister shot him a mischievous wink and an encouraging smile that made Bitters wonder what exactly was going on.

"Okay!" Palomo was already up, gushing, "Oh, wait until you see all of them!"

Jensen waved before the two were swallowed up by the sea of people at the exit to the bar, leaving a dumbfounded Bitters with a fidgety Matthews.

"S—sorry!" The other man said meekly a second later, "Do you want to just head out too then?"

Bitters thought about it for a moment.

They had the table now all to themselves.

He glanced at the slightly younger man sitting next to him before asking: "Trying something different every so often isn't so bad, is it?"

Matthews blinked in momentary shock for a second before smiling and shaking his head, blush still present on his face.

Yeah, Bitters decided then while smiling slightly to himself, it probably wouldn't be too bad to stay there for just a little while longer outside their individual comfort zones.

* * *

At around two hours in, Leonard Church was already nearing his party limit. After all, there were only so many shenanigans from his friends that he could tolerate.

For example, such as Doc and Donut constantly chattering about the benefits of yoga and how to best compare carpet swashes. Or Sheila and Lopez making googly eyes at one another through their helmets, which was honestly a bit impressive considering they didn't even _have_ eyes under there. Or Andersmith regaling Bones with another fascinating life lesson from Caboose, and Caboose setting aside drinks for a _freaking gun_.

Yes, Church had definitely already reached his party tolerance threshold.

Good news was that Caboose seemed to be in pretty high spirits. Seeing as how that was the case now, Church felt confident that he could run out for some fresh air without anything drastic happening.

Which was something of a relief too since he did _not_ do crowds well either, especially when said crowds were full of mercenaries he still wasn't so sure about.

He informed Sheila that he needed a break for a little while. The robot only nodded her head in understanding while saying that she'd tell the others, a predictably polite response and one of the main reasons as to why he had told her and not someone else.

After their talk, Church dashed through the crowded bar to get outside as quickly as was possible. He took in a few deep breaths of air, relieved at even being just a few meters away from the chaos he had just left behind.

"Church?"

The dark-haired man turned at the questioning voice, his eyes meeting those of his sister's.

Carolina was standing just a few steps away, arms crossed over her chest and an odd tingle of uncomfortableness settling over her frame.

Of course, she'd want to leave early too. Bars and parties really weren't up the redhead's alley, especially after York. It said a lot about her fondness for Caboose and the others that she had been willing to stay even as long as she had.

"Hey, sis," he greeted, "Needed to get away for a little while too?"

She nodded, "I already informed Caboose." Carolina told him, "Besides since this area is so crowded I figured I would do some patrolling."

Well, _that_ made sense given her single-minded focus on work in general. Carolina glanced at him and smirked slightly, "You lasted longer than I thought."

The cybernetically enhanced man rolled his eyes at her teasing tone, "I'll bet," he muttered, "So did you have any money going on it that I managed to get you to lose out on?"

A shake of her head, "Sadly, no," the former Freelancer smiled, "And I _would_ have shared it with you if I'd won, you know."

"Well, damn. Fuck me and my saint-like patience then." Church sighed, "Probably going to leave soon anyways with that crowd in there. I'm surprised I lasted that long."

The teasing amongst the siblings died down following his words just then, being replaced by the loud noise and party sounds still going on behind them at the bar.

The two glanced at each other, and Church decided to bite the bullet for once but was beaten to the punch.

"I'm sorr—!"

Both siblings stopped at the same time before getting the full apology out when they realized that they had spoken all at once. They stared at one another before Church sighed, "Look, we both said some stupid things following that fucking blackout. So, let's just drop it. Okay?"

Carolina nodded, looking rather relieved to finally have the matter no longer hanging over their heads, "Agreed."

She turned to leave then, evidently quite serious about starting her patrol when she turned and looked over at Church, "Would you have left with her if given the chance?" she asked him quietly.

He knew she was referring to Tex, and that the argument they had just apologized for had no doubt dredged up old doubts and fears.

But Church's response was one he didn't even have to think on: "And miss all the fun here?" He smirked, "No way."

Though that still didn't mean he didn't wish Tex was here to share everything with.

The answer seemed to assuage Carolina's anxiety as she nodded and smiled slightly, "Good night, Church."

"Good night, sis."

With that, she was gone and Church had to decide whether to call it a night himself or head back inside.

"Hey, Church!" Caboose was yelling excitedly with Bones just then from the doorway, "We got Andersmith talking to the nice lady who gets us drinks! Matchmaking is a fun game!"

Okay, _that_ pretty much made his decision for him as the dark-haired man spun on his heels and walked away from the bar.

Unfortunately, the _last_ thing Church had expected upon coming back to the warehouse was walking in on Sarge and Doctor Grey acting like two horny teenagers over robot schematics. So, he was seriously contemplating getting some new friends when all was said and done.

…Along with some aspirin and blinders to boot.

* * *

"It is interesting how the atmosphere changes when copious amounts of alcohol are consumed." Sheila mused from her spot next to Lopez, Doc, and Donut.

Bones was asking Caboose all sorts of questions about Freckles just a few meters away following their matchmaking attempts earlier, and the blond-haired man was more than happy to chat about his friend.

"It sure is more lively, huh?" Doc agreed, sipping on his orange juice.

"Así no es como lo describiría." _{"That's not how I would describe it."}_

Doc glanced questioningly at the brown-armored robot then, and Donut was more than happy to elaborate on what he said, "Oh! Lopez was just wondering what the weather was like." He explained, "I think it's clear skies all the way, buddy!"

"Eso no es ni siquiera cerca de lo que estaba diciendo. Por favor, dejar de traducir para mí." _{"That isn't even close to what I was saying. Please stop translating for me."}_

"You're welcome, Lopez!" Donut beamed, "Happy to help!"

"Seriamente..." _{"Seriously…"}_

Sheila watched the exchange with mild amusement before taking pity on Lopez, "Actually, Donut, what he said earlier was—"

Unfortunately, the female robot was cut off when someone activated an antique music player in the back of the bar. The noise was deafening, drowning out everything but the loudest of shouts.

"Estupendo. Más ruido para tratar de sintonizar." _{"Great. More noise to try to tune out."}_

"Oh!" Donut started swaying on his feet to the pop music blaring throughout the establishment, "I _love_ this song!"

Sheila noticed the smile on Doc's face as he watched Donut and couldn't help but speak up, "Is it not customary to dance at parties?"

Doc blushed slightly at the notion, "I'm...I'm not really sure this is the type of place to—!"

"Oh, great idea, Sheila!" Donut cut him off excitedly, "Letting it all hang out on the dance floor is just what this party needs!"

"De alguna manera no creo que la frase es correcta." _{"Somehow I don't think that phrase is correct."}_

"Exactly, Lopez!" Donut grinned, "We should just go for it! Come on, Doc!"

He grabbed the protesting Doc's hand and led him to the one spot that was clear on the floor, advising him to take the lead. In a matter of seconds, even the more self-conscious Doc was dancing as though no one was watching.

Sheila watched the couple for a few seconds before glancing over to where Andersmith and Cass were still heavily engaged in conversation. Apparently the two of them had hit it off rather well.

The robot seemed to be mentally smiling as she said, "It appears I am not too shabby at matchmaking either."

"No hace falta ser demasiado con esos dos." _{"Doesn't take too much with those two."}_

Lopez also seemed amused by the turn of events as the two Virtual Intelligences watched their friends.

"Every little bit helps." Sheila stated sagely.

The other robot hummed in quiet agreement with her. They sat in comfortable silence for a few precious moments, hands entwined on the table.

Sheila spoke up fondly as she watched Doc and Donut dance, "It is customary for there to be even more dancing at weddings, Lopez."

He nodded, "Eso he oído." _{"So I've heard."}_

"I would love to give Doc and Donut the chance to dance more," she mused, glancing over at him meaningfully, "And to share a few dances with you."

Lopez's fingers tightened around hers in a gentle, assuring manner.

"Usted tendría que ser el que le diga ellos sin embargo. Eso es algo que definitivamente no debe ser mal traducida." _{"You'd have to be the one to tell them though. That's something that should definitely not be mistranslated."}_

* * *

Jensen and Palomo walked through the quiet side streets of Chorus in amicable silence for quite some time before Jensen glanced at the dark-skinned young man and smiled conspiratorially.

"Hey," She said to the genetically engineered young man, "Thanks for agreeing to give the two of them some alone time."

"Sure!" Palomo nodded enthusiastically before her words sunk in, "Umm…what?"

"Oh, you know! We just left the bar to give Bitters and Matthews some private time together," the girl informed him, "Because it's obvious they like each other."

"Really?" Palomo scratched his chin thoughtfully, "What makes you say that?"

"I have a knack for that sort of thing." The brunette stated proudly, smiling to herself as her braces flashed in the moonlight.

A sudden movement in the shadows by a control panel caught Jensen's eye. She turned towards it, squinting to get a better view while her companion continued on obliviously.

"Really?" Palomo asked again, this time scratching the back of his head as he muttered, "Because I've always lov—"

The dark-haired rookie was cut off when his friend grabbed his arm and gestured to the person in red camo. Said individual now appeared to both lieutenants to be quite obviously tinkering with the public computer terminal.

"Hey, is that broken?" Jensen asked the stranger, "We could—!"

Her friendly offer of assistance stopped short when the man turned to face them, the power in the area suddenly flickering off as he opened fire on the two.

* * *

Grif and Simmons had finally finished eating and were currently in the process of watching their friends' shenanigans amidst the crowded barroom. The scenes they were witnessing had them both smiling fondly, even though they weren't in any rush to join in on the festivities themselves anytime soon.

Grif observed that Sheila and Lopez were discussing something contentedly with their helmeted heads bent so close together that they were actually touching, while Caboose was animatedly discussing something else with Bones which then had the two occasionally glancing over to where Andersmith and Cass were still hovering together despite how busy the bar was.

Farther away, they could make out Bitters and Matthews having a surprisingly amicable discussion about some sort of topic as well and, while the blaring music from before had thankfully ended, it seemed as if Doc and Donut were in no hurry to stop dancing together anytime soon.

"It's good that everyone's enjoying themselves." Simmons stated with a smile on his face, finally able to look in Grif's direction now that the dark-haired man was no longer stuffing improbable portions of food into it, "This was nice, even if places like this aren't really my thing."

Right. Grif recalled Simmons saying once before how his family hadn't been much for bar outings. In fact, the cyborg had told him that their concept of "parties" had always been high end, prim and proper affairs—which is where he met most of his father's business associates…

There was a painful, reminiscent smile on Simmons' features then, and Grif wondered if he was thinking of that now. Of the family he had lost, and of the business associate in particular that he had nearly been sold to.

Simmons had always used the term "adopted," but the genetically engineered man knew enough about the practices of the world to tell what had really been going on there when a contract was involved. He just never had it in him to correct the poor guy.

"This is even louder than usual, huh?" Grif asked, attempting to distract both of them from disturbing thoughts of events that thankfully hadn't even had the chance to play out.

Simmons nodded before coughing awkwardly, "But, I…I'm having fun, Grif."

"Good," the tan-skinned man grinned, jerking his head towards the exit, "Want to head on out now and do something somewhere a bit quieter?"

They both looked away momentarily at what had been admittedly a poor word choice. One that had both of them understandably suddenly feeling rather awkward at the memories it conjured up of a drunken night on the town spent together. Though thankfully a few seconds later, a still blushing Simmons nodded his head in agreement with the idea.

So, they made their way through the throngs of people while somehow avoiding getting spotted by their preoccupied friends to slip outside. The night air was crisp and getting cleaner with the more distance they put between them and the bar scene. Simmons closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as though he needed a recharge from the evening.

"Hey, give me a sec." Grif stopped as well, lighting a cigarette for his own break.

"Are you seriously still smoking?" The redhead didn't even wait for the cigarette to make it to the other man's lips before he started berating him, "Grif, those things are going to ruin your lungs and—!"

He stopped abruptly at the laughter shaking the orange-wearing man's form just then, "Oh, geez. Simmons," Grif rubbed a tear from his eye, "You have _no_ idea how much I fucking missed this."

Simmons glowered and muttered under his breath, "Fat-ass."

"Kiss-ass." Grif's response was surprisingly fond, "We should do this again." Grif pressed the cigarette butt into the ground with his heel, ignoring the distasteful look the action earned from the pale man.

Simmons seemed taken aback for a second at Grif's comment, but then the redhead smiled and nodded his head, "Definitely."

"Maybe next time we'll even go somewhere that's more your speed," the dark-haired man informed him, "Though don't expect me not to complain the entire time, nerd."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, jackass." Simmons was smiling now too, chuckling slightly, "Remember when I had you come with me to that museum exhibit?"

"Only because you kept kicking me to keep me awake."

As they were talking and laughing, Grif moved closer to Simmons. The cyborg was so caught up in his reminiscence that he didn't even notice as the genetically engineered soldier took in a deep breath and raised his hand to the other's shoulder as though he were about to pull him closer to tell him a secret.

But, before Grif's mind could fully commit to the " _it's now or never_ " train of thought it was heading towards just then, the entire street was plunged into complete and utter darkness.

The sudden blackout was followed a second later by the heavy thud reaching Grif's ears of Simmons hitting the ground.

" _SIMMONS!"_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I am so sorry-yet-not-sorry for the two massive cliffhangers I just closed this chapter out on! As you can tell, the plot definitely picked up pace a bit in those last portions. There are a whole lot of surprises and reveals left to come!

I really enjoyed writing this chapter and getting the chance to write some more character POVs too, along with some lovely little moments between the characters before those cliffhangers happened. Thank you very much for taking the time to read this part, and I hope that you enjoyed it too! :D


	11. Chapter 10

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Ten:

The only thing in the inky darkness that Dexter Grif could even remotely make out was Simmons. The completely motionless cyborg had filled his vision the second he fell.

The kiss-ass' prone form continued to remain on the ground. It was almost as if… _No, don't think it._ Grif corrected himself.

The redhead was just unconscious, hypocritically lying there. _Seriously, what an asshole_. Simmons had some nerve to do this now after all the times he had called Grif lazy.

"Simmons? Simmons! Come on, get up!"

He wasn't sure how long he had been calling out Simmons' name. Nor was the tan-skinned man sure when he had fallen to his knees on the ground beside the cyborg, shaking the lankier man and holding him in his arms all at once.

"Come on, _Dick_!"

Grif even used his real name, the one Simmons hated, hoping it would piss the nerd off enough that he'd snap back into consciousness. The cockbite still remained motionless in Grif's arms, so his panic only intensified.

" _SIMMONS!"_

He vaguely recognized the sound of a door opening from behind, and the genetically engineered man was distantly aware of footsteps racing over to them. But, Grif couldn't tear himself away from trying to just get Simmons to _open his fucking eyes already_.

"Grif!" Cass' voice broke into his panicked thoughts with a taking-charge tone, "Get it together!"

"But—!" Grif's grip around Simmons tightened, as if afraid that the gathered group of bar patrons might try to take the pale form away from him.

"It looks bad, but he's only unconscious." Her voice was calm but had a slight edge to it all the same, "Get him inside. You can put him upstairs."

That's right. Cass' apartment might have been a major downsize from the home she had shared before with her late husband, but it was located just above the bar.

Simmons would probably appreciate waking up somewhere a bit more private than outside on the street. Knowing the redhead as well as he did, Grif was pretty sure the anxious cyborg would have a massive panic attack if he woke up in the middle of a crowd of relative strangers.

Shakily, he began lifting Simmons up, barely registering how heavy the skinny man was due to his dead weight and metallic implants. Grif wasn't even totally aware of Andersmith suddenly appearing at his side to help him either as he followed his brunette friend back into Cass' building as if in a daze.

The bar was pitch black inside. Still, he could make out that even more people had remained inside, obviously having chosen to stay put instead of blindly stumbling outside in the dark.

Adding somewhat to his inner concern, the tan-skinned man could see Doc and Donut hovering over the slumped over forms of both Sheila and Lopez. He also noticed that Bones, Matthews, and even Bitters seemed to be having their work cut out for them with trying to calm down a distraught Caboose who was frantically waving around a silent Freckles in a vain attempt to get his friend to wake up.

Grif swallowed uncomfortably at the sights, the anxious feeling in his stomach rising to panic levels once more.

His friends had everything there under control as much as they could given the situation, so while they looked over the others he really needed to focus on Simmons.

Still, the dark-haired man decided that when Simmons woke up they would both have to go check on everyone else too. After all, that was the kind of shit friends did for one another.

Grif fought down his once again rising panic with a stubborn thought of how _everything_ was going to be okay. He just _had_ to make sure that Simmons would wake up first.

* * *

The mysterious stranger fired at Charles Palomo the second the blackout occurred. Suffice it to say, if the two rookies hadn't already thought that the unidentified man was suspicious before, they certainly did now.

Fortunately for Palomo, Katie Jensen was quick on her feet and had managed to tackle the dark-skinned young man to the ground. Both rookies collided with the street painfully, the bullet passing overhead just centimeters from where they had been previously standing.

Jensen remained sprawled on top of Palomo, her heart hammering in her chest as her brain started processing just how close they had come to death. That's when the tan-skinned girl heard footsteps moving closer to them, and through her adrenaline haze she realized that the man was preparing to take another shot.

So, she added a quick correction to her inner thought narrative. In other words, the freckled lieutenant's brain was starting to process just how close they _still_ were to death.

Realizing the threat quite literally looming over them, Jensen forced her aching body up so that she was basically sitting on top of Palomo with her muscles poised to jump and a warning on her lips.

"K—Katie," Palomo was looking up at his savior in complete awe while totally oblivious to what was currently going on, "I—!"

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the man aimed again. Jensen closed her eyes because there was no way they'd be able to dodge again. At such a close range, unless he was an awful shot like Mr. Church was, the stranger was definitely not going to miss a second time.

If Jensen had kept her eyes open, she would have seen quite a different sight from what she was expecting because that particular moment was when a cyan blur suddenly raced in-between the two young recruits and the hostile.

When the lieutenant realized she hadn't been killed yet, her brown eyes opened to find a kicking armored form lash out, causing the mysterious assailant to misfire again. The gun was then knocked out of his hands a second later, Agent Carolina's face a stern mask as she stood in the middle of the altercation she had happened upon.

"A—Agent Carolina!" Jensen had never been so relieved to see the imposing former Freelancer before in her life.

She got to her feet shakily, helping Palomo do the same with an outstretched hand since he was still flat on his back.

For a long while, no one spoke as Carolina squinted at the saboteur through the darkness they had wreaked on the streets of Chorus. However, something about their red camouflage seemed to catch the former Freelancer's eye as she motioned towards it with a tilt of her head.

"What is the Insurrection doing here?" She demanded sharply, fists still at the ready.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The stranger let out a sharp bark of patronizing laughter, sweeping his arms out to encompass all of the darkened streets around them, "Let's just call all of this payback."

It was obvious to the two rookies that evidentially the mystery man's comment struck a chord with the redhead. Still shell-shocked, they watched as Carolina gritted her teeth, racing forward to deliver yet another crushing blow to the man.

"Carolina!"

Of course, that was also when Agent Washington's voice broke through the night.

The three from Chorus glanced in the direction that the genetically engineered soldier's call had come from as both he and Captain Tucker ran over to where they were. They must have heard the commotion from somewhere nearby.

"Oh, you guys are here too!" Tucker noted upon seeing Jensen and Palomo as well.

The new presences granted a momentary distraction that the mysterious man used to full effect as he fired a blast grenade into the air when Carolina had turned slightly to face her comrades in mid-stride.

"Ow! What the fuck?" Tucker exclaimed as everyone reflexively covered their eyes.

When the flash faded and they could all see again the man was gone, though Jensen supposed it was perhaps fortunate that he didn't apparently have any extra weapons on hand. If he had, the stranger most likely would have used them instead while the group had been preoccupied.

"Damn it!" Carolina seethed, punching out into empty air in frustration.

"Um. Okay. I'll repeat myself." Tucker muttered, looking around the area frantically, "What. The. Actual. Fuck. Happened?"

It was a sentiment shared by Vanessa Kimball when she and Donald Doyle arrived on the scene a second later.

"What the Hell is going on here?" The dark-skinned woman demanded of Carolina as Doyle struggled for breath next to her.

The two leaders of Chorus being there made sense when Jensen thought about. After all, they were currently rather close to Armonia. Maybe that was the real reason behind the attack?

Somewhat curious about the answer herself, Jensen glanced towards the redhead.

But, it seemed that Carolina was already thinking of something else entirely with the blackout still looming overhead. The former Freelancer whipped her head in the direction of where the Reds and Blues' warehouse was located before shouting: _"CHURCH!"_

* * *

Leonard Church wasn't even fully aware of what was happening, only that there was a blinding flash of agony washing over his skull and down the rest of his body.

His barely conscious brain hardly recognized that a blackout was occurring. Nor was it aware of when he'd become a thrashing, screaming mess in one of the warehouse's hallways. He wasn't even aware that he had fallen in the first place, and the dark-haired man certainly wasn't entirely sure when two forms had bent over him in all the commotion.

If he squinted through the tears in his eyes and the pulsing in his brain, he could just make out the blurry forms of Doctor Grey and Sarge. But, it was too much fucking effort to keep that up for any reasonable length of time.

This wasn't like the previous blackout. This time, the agony seemed to be going on _forever_. The cybernetically enhanced man suddenly felt hands on his shoulders, keeping him from thrashing into a wall.

"What in tarnation is going on?" Sarge's voice was uncharacteristically worried, which just added to the list of shit that Church really didn't need to deal with right now.

"It must have to do with the blackout." Doctor Grey's response was terse but professional. Apparently, Church's writing on the floor in agony was enough to bring out her serious side. Who knew?

The hands on his shoulders were attempting to steady him and get him into a sitting position. The dark-haired man could just make out Doctor Grey hovering in front of his face, looking down at him in concern. Sarge was right behind her as the two began lifting him up.

Doctor Grey turned to Sarge after fishing for something in her pocket, "Go. You need to check on the others."

Sarge shook his head, reluctant to leave her with Church so obviously immobile with pain, "But—!"

"I'll get Church to the infirmary," she promised, "So just go!"

There was only a brief pause in which the two blurry forms seemed to be staring at each other, and then Sarge was moving away with an understanding nod of his head as he reassured the doctor, "I'll bring them all back."

"I know." Doctor Grey's tone was confident.

Then the dark-skinned woman pulled out the sedative she had been looking for earlier, injecting it into Church's arm without a second thought.

Thankfully, Church's world went blissfully black a second later.

* * *

Tex slammed her fist into the side of the air transport, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal.

"Hey!" Four Seven Niner's voice rang out disapprovingly, "What have I said about taking frustrations out on my ship?"

Tex huffed, not bothering to reply. Instead she took her helmet off and dropped it to the ground, grumpily landing on a seat.

"Okay." Niner turned her wheelchair around, gazing questioningly at the other woman who was currently holding her head in her hands, "What's going on? Usually you're in a much better mood when you've left one of your parties."

It was true too. This was definitely not the normal way Tex acted after pretty much single-handedly decimating one of the enemy's satellite bases.

The redhead sighed, finally looking up at the pilot, "We need to get going."

"So soon?" Niner couldn't help but joke in a snarky tone, "Here I was, wanting to see the sights first. Maybe pick up a few souvenirs."

The tan-skinned woman was already heading back to the controls before the Freelancer replied, ready to get moving.

"Rain check." Tex stated in mock apology, "I found the name of their next target. They're already making their move."

Ah, so that explained the sudden urgency to leave.

"Where to then?" The pilot asked, all business now that she knew they were on a time crunch.

Tex almost looked pained for a moment before she answered: "Chorus."

Niner's blood froze. "Fuck," she stated quietly, "That's where…"

She trailed off, unable to continue the sentence. Chorus. It was where the others had gone following the war to make a clean start for themselves. Where _she_ had gone.

Even piloting at her fastest speed, they both knew that region was at least over two weeks away from where they were now.

Tex nodded in response to her unfinished comment, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"They'll be fucking sorry if they so much as lay a finger on any of _my_ idiots."

* * *

Richard Simmons woke up as if in a groggy daze, a dull and throbbing ache spreading throughout his whole body as he did so. Through teary, blurred vision with his cybernetic eye in particular being rather fuzzy, he could make out three figures hovering above him.

"He's awake!" He recognized Cass' voice coming from one of the forms overhead.

"Welcome back, sir!" Andersmith sounded on the verge of tears.

"How are ya feeling, Simmons?" Sarge asked, sounding both relieved and concerned all at once.

The cyborg blinked, his vision thankfully finally coming into focus.

"Like—like shit, sir." Simmons couldn't help but answer honestly. After all, his body felt like it had just gone through a trash compactor.

"That's not surprising considering you were out for over two hours." Sarge told him.

He couldn't help but blink, this time in surprise, at that piece of information. _Two hours?_

The redhead's mind was still trying to figure out what had happened in the first place. Then it hit Simmons like a bag of bricks, which is funnily what he felt like actually happened at the moment. He had been talking with Grif outside the bar when everything had gone dark and…

He swallowed, not wanting to finish his thought as he glanced at Sarge, "Another blackout, sir?" Simmons asked.

Sarge nodded, looking grim, "'Fraid so. This one lasted longer."

No wonder he felt so out of sorts now. Simmons frowned, "What about the others…?"

If he had been this affected, then that meant that Church, Sheila, Lopez, and Freckles had no doubt experienced blackout repercussions too. His stomach became queasy just thinking about it.

The people now glancing at one another above him didn't help anything.

"They _should_ be recovering right about now too." Sarge said at length, "I'm going to check on the three downstairs, then we're all heading to the clinic once everyone is up for it."

He nodded, "Sounds like a good plan, sir." Simmons muttered, unsure of what else to say.

There was an uncomfortable silence that spread across what now appeared to an unknown apartment that must have been above the bar based off of what the older soldier had said. The trio standing over him were once more looking at each other awkwardly.

Finally, Cass spoke up, "You know, someone else was worried sick about you too, Simmons."

She motioned to the other side of the tiny space, where Grif was sitting on the couch watching the cyborg with a surprisingly stern expression on his face.

"Now do you _still_ think this isn't a big deal, Simmons?" The tan-skinned man asked him quietly.

Simmons could only shake his head in reply.

The others decided to give them space for a few moments, offering a couple quiet words of encouragement to Simmons before stepping outside to check on the situation in the bar downstairs.

There was an intense silence following their departure as Grif moved to sit next to the bed.

At length, averting the other's gaze, Simmons managed to mutter, "I'm…I'm sorry for how shitty things turned out."

He thought Grif might respond sarcastically, or maybe even agree with him. But, the chubby man surprised the redhead by letting out what appeared to be a relieved sigh.

"Honestly, Simmons?" Grif told him, looking him straight in the eye, "I'm just fucking grateful you're doing relatively okay now."

Simmons had to look away to try to cover up the sudden warmth on his face, feeling oddly touched by the sentiment.

But reality and his own nerves had him eventually facing Grif to ask a question that had been on his mind since he woke up, "Do you have any idea what's going to happen next?"

Grif sighed again, this time a tired and stressed one, "I don't have a damn clue." He muttered, unable to look Simmons in the eye as he said it.

The two stayed with one another in relative silence following that, worry on both of their minds along with a desire to just still be together in the same space for a little longer.

This time, though, the silence wasn't nearly as enjoyable or comfortable.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Even though this is a shorter chapter, I figured I would post the aftermath one sooner rather than later in order to make up for the massive cliffhanger from last time. Things are definitely starting to heat up in the plot, and there are a lot of massive reveals to be had in upcoming chapters! Hopefully this was an enjoyable read still. Thank you for taking the time to do so! :)


	12. Chapter 11

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eleven:

Lavernius Tucker's heart was racing as he and Washington made their way up the flight of stairs leading to their apartment complex. It was currently several hours since the power outage, so there was no fucking way he was waiting for the lift now.

Given how he'd had to stay around while Doyle and Kimball collected information on the attack, despite knowing next to nothing about what the Insurrection even was or why those assholes would _want_ to target Chorus in the first place, the dark-skinned man was all the more eager to get back to his home while he had the chance.

He was at the door, lungs heaving and getting ready to slam the door open with a fist to the lock when…

"Tucker." Wash's infuriatingly calm voice broke through his frenzied mind a second before he could act, the Freelancer's hand gently pressing down on his shoulder.

Tucker moved at the contact as if he had been physically hit, his whole body turning in Wash's direction as annoyance flared up in light of the older man's interruption. He was right _there_ , damn it!

"What?" Tucker practically hissed.

Wash didn't even blink in light of the desperate ire in the dark-skinned man's eyes. Instead, he looked at him patiently, his hand still resting on the other's shoulder, "You need to calm down."

"Calm _down_?" Tucker stared at the blond incredulously, "What the actual _fuck_ , Wash? We were just attacked and—!"

He cut himself off, knowing that the genetically engineered man knew what he would say next. Junior was scared of the dark. Had been ever since he was a baby.

His son was scared of the dark and had been in the middle of a power outage, and Tucker hadn't been there to help him…

"I know," True to form, it seemed as if Wash was reading his mind, because the older man gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "But running through that door panicking yourself is _not_ going to help Junior any."

Fuck it. The Freelancer was right. Tucker sighed, letting out a long exhale of breath in order to center himself.

It would be better for Junior if Tucker walked in with his usual confident swagger. It would reassure the boy that everything was fine. As much as the dreadlocked soldier wanted to race in and hug the living daylights out of his awesome kid, that would only make matters worse.

After _much_ inner struggling, Tucker managed to have a semblance of a calm exterior. "Thanks, Wash." He finally managed to get out.

"You're welcome."

Seeing Tucker calmer seemed to ease some of the tension in Wash's own shoulders. The teal-wearing man figured that had to do with how Wash was most likely concerned for Junior too. After all, the freckled man had even excused himself from further endless discussions on what the presence of the Insurrection here in Chorus meant to come back with Tucker to check up on the boy.

After giving himself one more agonizing second of preparation to appear nonchalant and following a nod from Wash, Tucker turned to the lock and opened the door.

What he saw inside his living room had him stopped in his tracks. The whole space had been transformed into a blanket fort of epic proportions. His and Junior's comforters were hanging across the middle of the space with pillows and assorted blankets and towels creating even more towers and walls to hide behind.

While Tucker was taking in the blanket fort scenery, three heads popped through the space between the comforters at the entrance.

"Took you guys long enough to get back!" Kai remarked, sounding a bit annoyed and grateful all at the same time due to the intrusion on their fun.

"Oh! Um, hello, sirs." Volleyball, obviously the friend that Kai had mentioned before, looked a bit more sheepish in the presence of her superior officers.

Junior's face lit up at seeing his father and Wash standing open-mouthed in the doorway. The child grinned, racing from the cushy safety of the blanket fortress to wrap his arms tightly around Tucker.

"Hey, kiddo." Tucker's expression softened considerably at his son's embrace and he eagerly returned it, "What's going on here?"

"Oh, well, when the power outage happened the little guy got a bit worried," Kai and Volleyball exited the fort too as the younger Grif sibling continued her explanation, "So we decided making a kick-ass battle fort was just what we needed to do!"

Looking up at the young woman's face, Tucker saw a knowing look cross her features. Of course she would remember that the best way to combat Junior's fear of the dark was to offer him a distraction.

"Thanks, you guys." He let out sincerely.

"Eh, no problem." Kai shrugged indifferently, "It was fun. Volleyball and Junior here are kickass fort makers!"

"That's what I like to hear." He grinned down at his son who smiled back.

Now that Tucker was definitely back for the rest of the night, both father and son thanked the lieutenants for helping them that evening. The dark-skinned man promised to fill the two anxious girls in on things later, though he also advised them each to check on Jensen, Palomo, Grif, and Simmons when they could given what had happened.

He glanced at Junior who was tugging on both his and Wash's arm a second later, 'What's up, kiddo?" Tucker asked as the front door closed behind the two babysitters.

Here he had been worried that Junior would be panic-stricken during the night while his son had simply been proving just how much of a trooper he was. Tucker wouldn't be able to thank Kai and Volleyball enough for so valiantly diverting his attention like they had.

Junior led the two men to where the main portion of the fort was, looking first at Tucker and then at Wash before letting go of their hands to point at the assembled forces of his kitty plush army on the ground.

"Ah, well every great fortress needs an army," Tucker whistled appreciatively, flashing the former Freelancer a grin, "And I bet Wash is happy to see this one watching over you."

"Very." The smile lighting up Wash's gray eyes was so fond that Tucker's heart nearly skipped a beat. Maybe he should get that looked at one of these days.

Junior bent down, picking up one of the stuffed animals to give Wash and his father a closer view. Whatever unease the young boy had undoubtedly felt before was forgotten in the padded safety of his fortress and with the presence of the two soldiers before him.

The young boy curled up on the couch in-between Tucker and Wash, his "army" surrounding him in a comfy security blanket. It took them another hour to finally get Junior to fall asleep. Tucker stroked the top of his head protectively, glad that his son was doing so well.

"Thank you." He muttered quietly to Wash, who was still watching the father and son with a warm smile.

"It was no problem at all." Wash stated sincerely, "I'm just glad the two of you are doing okay."

Tucker sighed, frowning, "Yeah, but how long is _that_ going to last with those assholes out there?"

Wash looked both serious and sad when he answered, "Honestly, Tucker? I can't answer that." He eventually remarked, standing up, "But we'll put a stop to them. I swear."

Tucker couldn't help but believe him when Wash spoke with such conviction. Even if it made him worried all the same.

"Off to Freelancer business, then?" he tried joking instead.

A nod was Wash's reply, "Off to Freelancer business."

"We'll have to talk more about all of this shit tomorrow then." Tucker told him, "No way you and Carolina are going to be having _all_ the fun this time around."

No, not this time. Not when Junior had a great home for once here in Chorus. Not when all of their group finally had the chance to start over again. There was no way that Tucker was going to let some assholes ruin that.

If Wash wanted to protest the younger man's remark, he wisely chose not to after seeing the determined look on Tucker's face. Instead, he simply sighed tiredly and nodded again.

Tucker's grip on Junior's shoulder tightened protectively.

* * *

Mornings after big events tended to suck only when copious amounts of alcohol were consumed, though this particular one sucked hard despite not involving that particular factor. Actually, Leonard Church _really_ wished he had some alcohol in his coffee right now.

Along with a whole handful of aspirin, both for the looming headache he still felt from earlier as well as the new one pressing ever so incessantly at his temples. Granted, the new headache was in the form of two voices talking practically in tandem with one another close by.

"We were so worried when we heard from Sarge that you were in the clinic, Church!" Donut exclaimed, looking very concerned for his friend.

"Was it like how it was with Freckles and the others?" Caboose's voice was a terrified whisper as he recalled what had happened the other night, "Were you playing-but-not-playing too?"

"It was some kind of huge migraine, right?" Donut asked, looking thoughtful, "I can't imagine how painful that was! Simmons collapsed too and it was like the others just switched off. Nothing's worse than getting all worked up only to shoot off prematurely!"

"Pain is the worst." Caboose nodded his head in barely understood agreement before looking at Church with puppy dog eyes, "But you're feeling better now, Church, right? Like Freckles?"

Just this once the hopeful looks on both young men's faces were enough to keep Church from snapping about personal boundaries. _Barely_.

The dark-haired man still wasn't sure if he could breathe correctly though, and his head was spinning again…

"Let's give Church more time before we bombard him with questions. Okay, guys?" It was Doc, surprisingly, who came to his rescue as the medic even put a hand on Donut's shoulder to steer the lightish red-wearing man away.

"But—!" Donut looked ready to protest although he obviously couldn't think of a good excuse to stay, casting a worried look over at his cybernetically enhanced friend.

Church was touched, really, even though he didn't yet have the patience to answer the dirty blond's concerned questions.

"He still needs his rest given what happened," Doc patiently advised his crush, "And more orange juice too!"

"Oh, right!" Donut lit up at the mention of Doc's favorite cure all, "We can go get him some while he rests more. Great thinking, Doc!" He turned to Church again and smiled supportively, totally missing the blush his praise had put on Doc's face in the process, "Feel better, Church!"

"Thanks, guys." He actually meant it this time too as the dark-haired man watched the two leave. Sure, the bombardment of questions was _annoying as fuck_ , but they came from a good place.

Of course, now that Doc and Donut were gone, that just left him alone with Caboose. The younger man was currently still staring at Church like a little lost puppy. It was kind of freaking him out. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. To anyone. Ever.

"You're okay though, right, Church?" The blond asked quietly, "You and Freckles?"

Church sighed, nodding his head slightly. Apparently that small amount of assurance was all it took for Caboose to envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so glad!" The younger man was _crying_ , "I hate this playing-not-playing thing!"

"W—we all do, buddy." Church managed to wheeze out.

"Caboose."

It was Carolina who had spoken up then, the Freelancer standing quietly behind the two friends. On her face was the soft smile usually reserved for her interactions with Caboose.

"Freckles is awake in Sarge's lab now. He's asking for you." She informed the blue-wearing man.

Caboose let go of Church a second later, beaming, "Oh, boy! I am going to hug him too!"

The blond was off in a blur of motion then, leaving Church to catch his breath.

"Thanks." He told his sister the second he was able to do so.

"Don't mention it." Carolina replied, and Church was glad to see that she was looking better and less haggard than how she had looked last night when she had raced over to the clinic to see him.

The redhead cast him a regarding look of her own, "How _are_ you feeling now?" she asked, the concern evident in her tone.

"Like shit." He answered honestly, before adding with a shudder, "The fucking thing lasted longer this time."

It was rather fortunate that he had been at the warehouse when it had happened. If he had still been out…

"It reminded me of some of the Freelancer experiments." The shudder he made was more noticeable this time, "That's what scares the shit out of me the most, Carolina."

Thinking of all of those times had him remembering his other siblings as well. Theta's innocent laughter, Delta's logical observations, even Gamma's stupid knock-knock jokes…

Alpha too.

Sure, the experiments had caused him a whole lot of pain, but so could even memories of people.

Carolina looked over at him shaking his head then. Something in her green eyes told him that his sister knew exactly what, and who, he was thinking of.

At length, she took in a deep breath of air, "I know." The Freelancer told him, touching his shoulder reassuringly, "I'm going to make sure things will be okay."

They both knew that it wasn't something she could say with a hundred percent certainty, but Church also knew that Carolina needed a sense of motivation to keep herself from losing control.

She wanted to protect Church from everything as best she could. It was her way of reassuring him that things were different now. That she would make sure things would be different this time.

Not having it in his heart to disagree with her, Church simply grinned, "I know."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sheila and Lopez going about their work. The two robots were also understandably on edge given the events of the previous night.

Fuck it, even the lieutenants were hanging around the warehouse to try to divert attention from what had happened. He would probably not be an asshole later by even going over to help them. If only to take his mind off of things too. Maybe he could try to convince Carolina to do the same.

After all, it was clearly obvious that Church wasn't the only one in desperate need of a distraction from shit right about now.

* * *

The following morning, Richard "Dick" Simmons woke up early as usual. The cyborg wasn't sure if he wanted to prescribe to Sarge and Doctor Grey's advice to take it easy, especially when all that did was have his mind think on all of the uncertainties still floating in the air about the situation at hand.

With that in mind, the redhead figured a morning jog as per his usual routine would be fine. He considered the activity leisurely enough, and he could always set his own pace or stop if it all became too much.

Besides, it would be the perfect opportunity to check over the monitoring devices' readings of Chorus' power levels, as well as test a theory he had noticed ever since he had woken up from the blackout last night. It seemed that his cybernetic limbs seemed to be operating at a more sluggish pace than normal. It was not enough yet to cause major concern, but the timing was somewhat problematic.

Either his running would help loosen things up, since Doctor Grey's advice to help with tightness and discomfort in his limbs following surgeries was the reason Simmons had even started jogging at all, or he would have more of an idea of what to tell his two cybernetic experts the next time he saw them.

Really, it was a perfect plan. Maybe the peace and quiet would help calm his nerves too.

The cyborg was already slightly jogging, careful not to jostle the equipment he would need to read the monitors on the devices, when a familiar figure in orange caught his eye by the road leading away from the apartment complex.

"Hey." Dexter Grif nodded in way of greeting as Simmons approached, the tan-skinned man looking both out-of-place in the early morning light and rather groggy.

"What are you doing up so early?" Simmons asked him incredulously, "I thought you said getting up before one on your days off was a criminal offense."

Yes, they'd actually had that argument back when they had first met. It was one of Grif's favorites.

The chubby man stifled a yawn and shrugged, "Usually? Yes, and I think you're insane for getting up as early as you do," he shot Simmons a look that was filled with _something_ that the redhead couldn't quite identify, "But sometimes you can't beat the view."

"View?" Simmons blinked, looking around at the morning haze enshrouding everything, "The whole area is covered in fog!"

Grif sighed in response, the fat fuck probably deciding it was pointless to elaborate any further just to piss Simmons off. Instead, he raised a black eyebrow questioningly at the other man, "Is it even a good idea for you to be jogging after what happened?"

Simmons shrugged, "I can pace myself just fine, Grif." He informed the slightly older man, patting the tech at his side, "Besides, I was going to get the readouts on the energy-reading devices we'd set up before so I will have to stop along the way."

"I'll come along too then." Grif's response was a shocking one, especially since he didn't say anything about how much of a nerd or workaholic Simmons was for once given the redhead's admission of going to do work on top of voluntary exercise.

"Y—you don't have to." The lankier man quickly spluttered out, "Just stay and enjoy your, ah, views and—!"

"I'll enjoy more of them hanging out with you. Believe me." Grif was smirking at some unknown joke just then before he turned more serious, "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't push yourself too hard. Nerd."

Normally that would make Simmons more annoyed and flustered than anything else, but this time he felt oddly touched by the sentiment.

"Thanks, Grif." He told him sincerely as, instead of jogging, he walked at a brisk pace that Grif still had to struggle somewhat to keep up with.

"You're welcome," Grif glanced over at Simmons then, his look one of both curiosity and open concern, "So how are you feeling?" He asked quietly, his tone serious, "Really?"

Simmons paused for a moment at the question. His brain began going into his normal overanalyzing mode while thinking back to the confusion and terrifying moments of the night before, the current "off-ness" of his cybernetics, and the current unknowns about what was even going on in the first place.

"Honestly?" It was a bit painful to admit to, but he figured that he could do so with _Grif_ if no one else, "I'm a little scared. Maybe more than that."

He glanced over at Grif cautiously, expecting some kind of joke or disparaging remark at his expense. The cyborg was shocked by the hand that was suddenly on his shoulder in a reassuring grip, the tremor visible through Grif's body as he did so, and the oddly serious and determined look he found on the other man's face.

"Things are going to be okay, Simmons." The genetically engineered man told him in a voice that left no room for argument.

A part of Simmons wanted to argue the point that they couldn't possibly know that for certain, but the redhead knew that Grif was saying so just to try to get both of them to not dwell on the alternative. Instead of starting a fight, Simmons found himself simply nodding mutely.

As they started to walk together again, the pale man found that he was now immensely grateful Grif was with him.

* * *

There were many things that Donald Doyle admired about Vanessa Kimball.

Her sense of justice for one. Then there was also her determination and unparalleled courage. He even appreciated how her leadership style complemented his own so flawlessly. That she was beautiful and vibrant was another matter altogether.

But _none_ of that changed the fact that she was singlehandedly one of the most infuriating people he had ever met as well.

"If we hadn't been distracted last night, perhaps…" The genetically engineered soldier trailed off as she shook her head in frustration, dark eyes glaring at the bottle of alcohol still sitting on her desk.

Doyle stiffened, "Are you blaming _me_ , Miss Kimball?"

"I'm blaming _both of us_." She turned her glare towards him then, "We let our guards down. Look at what happened."

"I'm curious to hear how you think things would have been any different if we were both still in our offices going over reports." The older man couldn't help but bite back slightly.

Kimball glared at him for another few moments, and he took a step back just in case she decided to take the bottle and beat him over the head with it. At length, the dark-skinned woman sighed, "It doesn't matter, I suppose." She finally sat down again, her eyes glued to the monitors displaying information from the latest attack.

 _Attack_. That was definitely what last night's blackout was going to be considered now. Doyle had no idea who these Insurrectionist fellows were, but it was obvious they were targeting Chorus for some reason and that their method of assault was particularly terror inducing.

"If these readings that the Reds and Blues got for us are accurate," Kimball was reading his mind, "Then the power systems for Chorus have been compromised."

"As well as slowly but surely failing as we speak." He continued, a nervous feeling gaining hold over his stomach, "The power outages just help speed it along."

The female leader of Chorus nodded, "We have extra patrols now, but if we can't find a way to quickly fix the main problem…"

Her voice trailed off, the outcome left hanging ominously in the air. Chorus would be left defenseless without its power, a prime target for the Insurrection _or_ for other regions and bandits. All that they had worked for could be destroyed in a matter of moments.

The weight of that knowledge pressed heavily in the room as both Doyle and Kimball remained silent in the wake of it.

Doyle was scrambling his brain for some sort of idea, or for something comforting to say to the younger woman who he knew loved Chorus as much as he did, when the door suddenly opened and the mercenary called Felix sauntered in without preamble.

"So," the man in steel-and-orange began, casting one look at the readouts as if he already knew what was on them, "I hear the power situation around Chorus isn't doing too great."

"You're not wrong." Kimball frowned, glancing over at him speculatively, "Have you and your men decided to leave then?"

It would have been understandable given the situation. After all, the mercenaries had yet to build lasting ties here.

Felix shook his head, "To be honest, there were some grumblings about that, but Locus and I shut them down pretty quickly." His dark-eyed expression became grave, "Actually, I'm here to let you know of someone who might be willing to lend a hand in repairing your power grid."

The two leaders looked at each other just then as Doyle raised a blond eyebrow in question, "Really?"

A black-haired nod, "Yeah, he's a former client with loads of money and resources and who also just so happens to love projects like this." Felix informed them, "Chorus has always been a bit of a curiosity for him. That's actually how we even first heard of this place."

They would certainly need an ally with money and resources to make all of the necessary repairs in a timely fashion. It almost seemed too good to be true, but they were desperate.

"You think this former client of yours will be willing to help us. Just like that?" Kimball asked, her tone hopeful yet disbelieving all at once.

Felix smiled an award-winning smile just then, "Trust me. Malcolm Hargrove will personally want to help you guys out."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The plot thickens! Things are definitely going to be getting interesting in the story in future updates. I hope that this chapter was enjoyable for you! Thank you so much for taking the time to read it! :D


	13. Chapter 12

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twelve:

"Tell us everything you know about the Insurrection again."

Vanessa Kimball's clear voice cut through the datadpad-strewn meeting room without preamble, barely waiting the second that it took for David Washington and Carolina to enter the space both she and Donald Doyle currently occupied.

Not that Wash could necessarily blame the dark-skinned woman. He knew how tight of a spot Chorus was in due to the encroaching threat brought about by the power outages. It only made sense that the region's leaders were feeling immensely pressured by now. Not that others, himself included, weren't feeling the same.

He glanced quickly over at Carolina, silently nodding his blond head at the quiet inquiry in her green eyes. If the boss wanted to take the reins this time, Wash would be more than happy to let her. After all, he had answered the same question the last time it had been asked following the other night's blackout and subsequent attack.

"The Insurrection was a military and mercenary group we had several encounters with during the war." Carolina explained without hesitation.

Doyle glanced down at the datapad that held the previously filed report before trailing off, "And by we, you mean…?"

"Freelancer." There was a slightly unavoidable twitch in Carolina's voice when she said the organization's name out loud, but the redhead somehow managed to avoid grimacing.

It was rather impressive of her given that the memories that particular name dredged up in the former Freelancer's mind were no doubt the same horrible ones that Wash recalled. The genetically engineered soldier clenched his hands together tightly before taking in a deep breath of air, intently bringing his focus back to the present day.

"The Insurrection always seemed to be situated in a region of the opposing color as us, so we never had much of a chance for chit chat." The redhead continued, "However, I can tell you that they were well-armed, skilled, and highly efficient in combat."

Yes, with the amount of run-ins that Freelancer had with the Insurrection, it was no wonder that some remnants of the organization would perhaps want revenge on them specifically. But, targeting Chorus as a whole? There was more to _that_ than petty revenge. There had to be.

"We'd assumed what was left of the group had disbanded after the war since we never heard from them following…well, everything." Carolina informed the two leaders, "But, clearly, that wasn't the case."

"Most likely they're here at Chorus for our resources." Kimball muttered pensively.

Carolina nodded, "That seems the most likely reason, yes."

"Revenge on a couple of Freelancers will just be a bonus." Washington remarked, more to himself than to the others.

Inwardly, the blond was upset at the thought that others living in Chorus such as the rookies and the Reds and Blues, particularly Tucker and Junior, were getting caught up in a personal grudge on top of a resource conflict. Life was unfair. That was something Wash knew from firsthand experience. But, this seemed particularly so after everything else their group had already been through.

"No matter how much we review it, none of this information changes the fact that Chorus is in danger." Doyle's voice was surprisingly firm even as he voiced all of their concerns out loud.

"So, what should we do then?" Kimball countered, her own voice rising in challenge, "Take up the mercenaries' offer of assistance?"

The older blond-haired man sat silent at his co-leader's pointed remark. Kimball sighed before looking over towards Wash and Carolina again, asking: "Now what do you both know about Malcolm Hargrove?"

Carolina raised a red eyebrow at the question incredulously, " _That_ 's who the mercenaries' assistance is?"

The former Freelancer had good reason to be surprised.

"During the course of the war, Malcolm Hargrove was a well-known diplomat who made countless inquiries on behalf of various regions for more peaceful solutions to their problems." Wash spoke up, "That's even continued to be the case in its aftermath. He also has several well-to-do-businesses."

Both Hargrove and the Director had seemed at odds over the goings-on at Project Freelancer, but that seemed more than understandable given what had been really going on there. Truth be told, Wash had always thought the rivalry a strange one given the man's known history and somewhat secretive business practices.

"That's all of the data that we have found on him as well." Kimball tapped on a datapad before her, brown eyes serious as she contemplated its contents.

"Are you thinking of taking up their offer then?" Carolina asked, voice surprisingly calm.

Before Kimball or Doyle could speak up, the lights around them in the room flickered momentarily. Wash nearly jumped up, his mind flashing to Junior and Tucker, as well as the two cyborgs and their three Virtual Intelligence. The gray-eyed man wasn't blind to the momentary alarm that flickered across the normally stoic Carolina's facial features as well.

Kimball smiled wistfully as though what had just happened was something of a sign, glancing over at Doyle for a second. "We may not have much of a choice in the matter." She finally stated at length, frowning.

Washington and Carolina both frowned as well, but nodded their heads slightly in begrudging understanding all the same. It seemed that Chorus may have run out of other options.

* * *

"Hey, nerd."

Richard "Dick" Simmons didn't even have to look up to know who had come in to the kitchen area just then as they headed straight for the coffee pot as if it were a lifeline. The haggard voice of Leonard Church, as well as the insulting way he had addressed him, not at all like the oddly affectionate tinge that same insult took when uttered by _Dexter Grif_ of all people, was enough to clue him in.

The redhead rolled his eyes, "Can't you come up with anything more original, Church?"

A shrug and an extended middle finger towards his general direction were Church's only responses, "Eh, not when I haven't had my fifth cup of coffee yet. Lay the fuck off."

A non-caffeinated Church was an even grumpier than usual Church. So, Simmons ignored the griping, choosing to focus on his own mug of coffee and inner-musings instead.

Simmons had been forced to go on to the warehouse this morning without Grif, who he imagined was currently stuffing his face with piles of buffet brunch food. Going to work without the tan-skinned man had been the only way to avoid _both_ of them getting into trouble for being late. Seriously, the fat-ass really needed to be grateful for the fact that Simmons was still nice enough to cover for him!

However, the cyborg was actually glad that Grif had gotten distracted by an all you can eat buffet on their way to work today for once, if only because…

"So," Church cut into his troubling thoughts as though he had been reading his mind, "Another blackout happened."

Simmons blinked, looking up at the grimace plastered on Church's goateed face. It was more pain-filled than the exasperated one the dark-haired man usually sported when dealing with, say, Caboose or something equally trying. The look reminded Simmons of the lingering discomfort he was still feeling in all of his limbs.

The redhead nodded, "How are you feeling?" he asked the other quietly, already fearing the answer.

"Like shit." Church's response was immediate and succinct, "Now my brain always feels like it's on fire, even _after_ the damn power gets fixed."

That was probably due to his cybernetics being so connected to his nervous system. Simmons felt a twinge of sympathy for Church given that. It was bad enough with what he was going through, but a migraine every time the power so much as flickered? That would suck. _A lot._

"I think we should inform Sarge and Doctor Grey the next time they're not too busy." It was Church who spoke up just then, which was especially surprising given his usual reluctance to go to the doctors for anything, "Maybe even compare notes with Sheila and the others first to have a better understanding of what the fuck is actually going on."

Simmons nodded, not sure if he needed to actually say anything. It seemed like a pretty valid idea given that the power outages, while not occurring for lengthy sets of time, were still happening with more frequency than ever.

"Only," Church continued, remembering something, "Let's not say anything to the others just yet, especially Caboose."

That made sense given how worry-stricken the blond already was by everything. Simmons suspected that even Freckles was trying to act as if nothing was wrong for his friend's sake too.

"Or Carolina." Simmons mentioned, knowing how overprotective of her sibling the former Freelancer could be.

"Or the fat-ass." Church nodded helpfully, "Though the worry _might_ help him sweat off some needed pounds."

"I doubt it." Simmons sighed, "He's something of a stress eater." And how! The cyborg suspected that poor buffet didn't stand a chance.

"It's too bad that big blackout canceled your date." Church stated nonchalantly, as if trying to change the subject all of a sudden.

Simmons' pale freckled face turned as red as his hair at the mention of his and Grif's last night out together, "Th—that was…!"

"So," Church smirked jokingly, looking both amused and curious all at once, "Tell me you at _least_ got to second base."

Church must have been feeling slightly better, because the asshole fucking _laughed_ at both the feeble sputtering that came from the other cyborg's mouth and at the extremely red shade Simmons' whole body turned just then.

* * *

Later that day, the warehouse was a buzz of activity. Not only had pretty much all of the Reds and Blues came there for work, or just to simply hang out while only a select few of their friends did most of the actual work, but several of the lieutenants had also come to do the same.

The rookies' involvement had been at Washington's suggestion since both he and Agent Carolina were still at a meeting with Generals Kimball and Doyle. The former Freelancer had referred to it as a voluntary team-building exercise of sorts, which was why Matthews was so surprised to see Antoine Bitters standing in the warehouse about thirty minutes after the others had arrived.

The lieutenant in orange-trimmed armor looked completely lost as Matthews' sisters unhelpfully grinned at the situation and even gave him a thumbs up sign to _"Go for it!"_ much to his embarrassment.

Thankfully, Andersmith and Kaikaina were too busy giving Palomo a quick tour of a spot he hadn't checked out on one of his previous visits to notice, and Bitters was too busy looking around in general to see the gesture either. But, Matthews' face was still a brilliant shade of crimson by the time he walked over to the other man.

"Wh—what are you doing here?" The auburn-haired rookie asked, hating how his voice trembled slightly when he did so.

Bitters looked at him as though he were a moron, "Team-building exercise. Remember?"

"O—oh! Right. I just thought that…" Matthews decided it was best to trail off before he finished that sentence.

"That I'd bail because it wasn't mandatory and would be a complete waste of time?" Bitters finished for him, looking more amused than annoyed.

Matthews said nothing in response, bowing his head slightly in shame at how accurate Bitters' assessment had been.

"You weren't wrong," Bitters stated, surprisingly reassuringly, "But I figured I would come by and give it a shot."

For some reason, the thought of the dark-skinned man wanting to actually help had Matthews smiling quite a bit. Bitters stared at him for a few moments before he coughed awkwardly and turned his surprisingly flushed face away.

"Right." He began after a few seconds, "So what should I…?"

"Oh!" Matthews blinked at the unfinished question, remembering that they were there to assist with work. He glanced quickly around the large warehouse, noticing several boxes that were ready for movement into the storage areas, "We should probably get started moving these."

The cargo boxes were heavily loaded, but the two of them would probably have no problem moving them.

"Okay." Bitters told Matthews, "Why not?"

* * *

Before, back when Bitters had been working for his mercenary group, he would have been expected to do this kind of work on his own. It would have taken him a hell of a lot longer by himself. However, moving the boxes now really wasn't all that difficult, especially with Matthews helping him.

In fact, they were down to their final crate in rather good time. Maybe there _was_ something to this teamwork stuff after all. As they started moving the final crate, Bitters heard voices drifting their way from close by.

It was a group of the Reds and Blues: Lopez, Doc, Tucker, Simmons, and Grif. The older soldiers and robot were standing around a sorting table, their work seemingly forgotten and only partially done.

"I'm telling you that's what Wash told me!" Tucker was exclaiming in a loud sort of whisper.

"So," Doc sounded genuinely intrigued by whatever it was they were talking about, "This news from Washington is straight out of Armonia?"

"Of course!" The dark-skinned soldier grinned, "Naturally he told yours truly first."

"Naturally." Grif rolled his eyes from where he was standing so close to Simmons that the two were practically touching shoulders, "It's not like you aren't trying to contact him every five seconds or anything normally."

"Oh, like you're one to talk, fat-ass!" Tucker glanced pointedly at him and Simmons, causing the two men to blush awkwardly and look away.

"Todo el mundo sólo tiene que conseguir una habitación ya. Lejos de mí." _{"Everyone just needs to get a room already. Away from me."}_

"But, getting outside aid from the mercenaries?" Simmons looked understandably troubled by the news, "That must mean things are even worse than we thought, right?"

There was an uncomfortable silence that filled their space then. Grif looked as though he were about to reach out and grip Simmons' shoulder consolingly, but the tan-skinned man seemed to be holding back from following through with the motion because they were in public.

"Well, think of it as even more help is on the way! That's a good thing!" Doc suggested cheerily into the sudden quiet.

"Doc's right." Tucker picked up on that thread of thought very quickly, "Let's just focus on the positives."

Simmons nodded, but the redhead didn't look entirely convinced. Grif was watching the cyborg carefully with a frown on his face, hooded concern evident in his brown eyes.

"Voy a tener que decirle a Sheila más tarde. Lo que ayuda a este problema de recorte hacia arriba más es bueno en mi libro." _{"I will have to tell Sheila later. Whatever helps this issue from cropping up more is good in my book."}_

Doc nodded as his glasses bounced on the bridge of his nose, "That's the spirit, guys!"

Tucker grinned, "Exactly!" he stated emphatically, before looking around the warehouse, "Now where did Donut and Caboose run off to with Junior?"

Then rookies were moving away and out of ear shot from the group. Matthews was working _fast_ , but it seemed as if the boxes were maybe just a bit too heavy for him.

Both lieutenants seemed to be struggling as Bitters was left to ponder over what he had just heard. He wouldn't have thought in a million years that a mercenary company would willingly share their contact information with outsiders. Maybe his paranoia had gotten the best of him, after all. If the mercenary group's former client could help Chorus that was great. …Right?

They brought the box to the storage room as he was mulling over his thoughts, and Bitters absentmindedly helped Matthews place the box of already sorted and registered items on the lower shelf. He was glad they didn't have to deal with the top shelves given how heavy the crates were, and how even now the contents up there seemed wobbly.

"Look out!"

Bitters had just enough time to register that one of the top crates was falling and to grab hold of Matthews. The genetically engineered soldier pushed them both out of the way before there was a loud crash right where they had been standing seconds ago. His arms were wrapped tightly around the other young man, with Matthews' hands pushed tightly against his chest.

It was an odd sort-of embrace and, had either of them been thinking clearer, they would have probably pulled away from one another right then and there. Bitters certainly wouldn't have acted on the opposite instinct to _tighten_ his hold a bit if he had been thinking more, but both rookies were reluctant to pull away just then with the crash still echoing in their ears.

"You okay?" He finally managed to get out.

Matthews swallowed and nodded, one hand clenching and unclenching subconsciously on the fabric of Bitters' shirt. They stayed like that for probably a second more than was necessary until the door opened and Sheila came rushing inside.

"I heard the crash." She asked, the robot both looking and sounding rather concerned, "You're not hurt, are you?"

The two lieutenants had pulled away from one another the moment the door opened, both men standing a few centimeters apart awkwardly.

"Ah, no!" Matthews assured her, "We're…ah, all right."

Sheila glanced at the shelves and then at the spilled crate, "I knew that top shelf wasn't the most stable." She said quietly, bowing her helmeted head, "I was distracted. My apologies. I'll clean this up."

With that, Sheila moved past them with a troubled, determined gait. It was fairly obvious that the Virtual Intelligence had a lot on her mind, even to someone like Bitters with notably horrendous people skills.

After their offers to help were politely refused, the two rookies left with the feeling of Matthews wrapped in his arms still lingering oddly pleasantly on Bitters' skin.

* * *

"That was the third such power outage this afternoon?" Kimball asked tiredly, looking at a datapad that only confirmed her suspicions.

"Yes," Doyle nodded unnecessarily in response, "They are lasting only seconds, but their frequency is increasing."

The dark-skinned woman sighed, glancing over to see Doyle doing much the same and noting the tired slump in his usually infuriatingly perfect posture.

She knew that this was news that neither one of them wanted to hear. The two Chorus leaders were at least on the same page in that regard.

"So, what do we do now?" Doyle asked her, but the resignation in his voice made it obvious that he already knew what the genetically engineered soldier's answer would be.

Kimball sighed again, rubbing her forehead in stressed frustration, "What else can we do at this point?" She asked, a determined glint in her dark eyes, "Contact Felix and Locus. We're going to have to accept their offer."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** …That might not be the best idea out there, guys. XD This chapter was a bit on the short side, but things will definitely be picking up in the next part with Hargrove's introduction into the plot and even a surprising reveal!

Thank you as always for taking the time to read this. I hope it was an enjoyable read even if this chapter was short and more of a set-up for the next one! :)


	14. Chapter 13

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Thirteen:

The current steady thrum of the air transport that was normally such a calming presence for Four Seven Niner did little to soothe the growing unease building in her gut. As the black-haired woman glanced over at the intimidating figure of a female in black-armor sitting across from her with arms crossed over their chest, she knew that she wasn't the only one currently feeling anxiously frustrated.

The tan-skinned pilot sighed, turning back to check her readings for what felt like the millionth time since this flight began, "I wish that I could get this transport to fly faster without it breaking into a million pieces everywhere," She stated at length, "Or that Chorus wasn't so damn far away to begin with. We're still several days away."

Not to mention that that was with them traveling as fast as possible. They were being pretty damn reckless and ignoring safety protocols as it was. While Niner was confident in her skills, she wasn't sure the carrier could hold their current course's speed.

Plus, sneaking in once they got to Chorus would no doubt be pretty tricky too. The organization they had been trying so hard to nip in the heels often cast a much wider security net to avoid suspicion from those inside it when preparing their assaults.

Not that Tex wasn't aware of all of that already. The redhead shifted in her seat at Niner's commentary before speaking.

"Radioing in or messaging any other way now is pointless since they have everything monitored." She frowned, recalling past experiences the two had had with this particular group, "All we'd do is just get them to move faster by adjusting their time table before we even arrive."

The atmosphere was tense and Niner could tell, though Tex would never admit it to her or to anyone else, that she was regretting having left the little small knit group in the first place. It was a feeling that Niner could understand, but both women knew they had no time for regrets now. Not when a whole city, including several people they both cared for, needed their help.

"If we hadn't been investigating, if we had stayed? Well, we wouldn't have the opportunity to help now." The dark-haired pilot said quietly, not really expecting any response.

She was surprised when Tex gave her one all the same. "I know," The former Freelancer remarked, looking down at her hand as she clenched it tightly into a fist, "But that doesn't mean I still can't wish I was there with them for the start of all of this shit."

It was a sentiment that Niner had no trouble relating to, so she remained silent while once again checking over the controls to make sure they would get to their destination as quickly as possible.

* * *

Washington watched as the security gates to Chorus dropped their humming energy field at the announcement from the sentries that Malcolm Hargrove's retinue had arrived.

"What did I tell you?" Felix asked from his spot standing close to Locus, a smirk on his face, "He's always been the punctual sort."

Washington sighed from where he stood next to Doyle, Kimball, and Carolina, "Hopefully that punctuality will go hand-in-hand with the repairs too."

"Oh, I'm sure it will." Felix grinned even more, "Hargrove doesn't let his clients down either. Am I right, Locus?"

There was a slight nod from his mostly silent partner, and that seemed to be all of the contribution the green and steel-armored mercenary was willing to supply to the conversation.

Another few moments passed before a dust cloud signifying the appearance of a large, heavily-armored ground transport appeared as the already force field deactivated gates opened to receive Chorus' guests.

It was actually _three_ heavily-armored transports, some of the largest that Wash had ever seen even with all of the years he had spent in active combat during the war. Plus, there was a contingent of armored soldiers walking alongside the transports for added guard support.

…He could just picture Tucker joking about obvious "overcompensation" the second the younger dark-skinned man ever got a look at the retinue, fighting the subconscious urge to preemptively roll his eyes at the inevitable joke. The blond was clearly spending too much time with Tucker if he could already predict what the other would say in certain situations. He had to close his eyes for a moment to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

Clearly, Hargrove's willingness to travel across the lands assisting regions was not a trait that had been exaggerated. The caravan seemed designed to travel long distances over turbulent ground rather securely.

"Huh." Felix muttered from behind him, "The air transports must be coming later."

"A—air transports?" Wash couldn't help but splutter at the admission in disbelief.

How much power and influence did Hargrove _actually_ have?

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Wash." Felix joked amicably, "Rich people just _love_ showing off. I know I'm sure as hell going to the second I make it big too."

As Hargrove's group rounded to a stop just inside the safe confines of Chorus, both Doyle and Kimball signaled for the gate to be closed and the force field activated once again. The two leaders of Chorus both turned quick glances towards the other, surprised at having thought of the same action and for having performed it at the same time, before awkwardly looking away and focusing back on the newcomers in front of them.

Wash shot a questioning look over at Carolina at the exchange, though the older Freelancer merely shrugged. The redhead's body language alone reminded Wash to focus on the task at hand.

Right. Hargrove's retinue. The genetically engineered soldier needed to pay attention to this exchange. That was the whole reason he and Carolina were even here, after all. Wash turned back around just in time to see the first transport's door open and an older man step out, shooting the assembled group and the outskirts of the city an assessing look.

A soldier from the stranger's retinue gave him a datapad that he merely glanced at and nodded towards, saying something quietly to the guard as he walked over to the group from Chorus with authority in his measured and controlled gait. Behind Malcolm Hargrove, soldiers started to remove equipment from the transports with practiced ease.

"Felix and Locus I know from past dealings." He said without any preamble, turning to look at the dark-skinned woman and blond-haired man standing at the front of the smaller retinue, "You are Generals Kimball and Doyle, correct?"

Doyle nodded, "That's correct, Chairman Hargrove." He stated with the finesse of a natural born diplomat, "On behalf of our citizenry, we welcome you to Chorus."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." Hargrove's smile seemed genuine enough, though the assessing look never left his eyes, "It is rare to be able to assist a region as unique in its philosophies as Chorus."

"We are very grateful for the assistance." Kimball added, looking to the equipment and tech still being unloaded behind them, "Is all of that for the repairs?"

The Chairman nodded, not even glancing at what was going on, "With these power outage attacks, it is always crucial to be as thorough as possible with routing out the problem."

It made sense, though all of the movement and machinery made Wash feel uneasy. Perhaps if he could slip away for a second to see what exactly had been brought…

Hargrove noticed his regard and the frown that was no doubt crossing over his features just then. His smile remained intact, however, as he proffered his hand to the steel and yellow-armored Freelancer.

"Agents Washington and Carolina of the former Project Freelancer, yes?" Hargrove asked amicably enough, "I don't believe we've previously met, though I was familiar with that particular project's Director."

The way he worded the sentence made it obvious that the familiarity had not been a fond one, which both Wash and Carolina had known to be reciprocated in the few times the Director had ever mentioned the Chairman.

Still, they both shook his hand as Hargrove continued: "I'd be curious to know how two former elite soldiers such as yourselves came to be here."

"It's a long story, Chairman." Carolina glanced over at Wash as she spoke, apparently thinking that vague was the best way to go for now when it came to Project Freelancer.

"Of course, though you'll have to indulge me and tell me it sometime all the same." Hargrove turned to Kimball and Doyle expectantly just then, "Though I do believe currently that a tour of this wonderful region's facilities are in order?"

* * *

Antoine Bitters and the other lieutenants were just finishing up their daily exercises when Kimball, Doyle, the two former Freelancers, and the two mercenary leaders entered the training grounds. They were accompanied by an old man in a rather expensive-looking business suit, the older Chorus residents talking to him as if explaining things around the area.

Which meant that whoever this big wig was, he was definitely someone who hadn't been to Chorus before. Bitters frowned slightly as that knowledge flittered through his brain.

It also seemed as if he wasn't the only rookie with questions as to the stranger's identity.

"Hey! Who's the really old guy?" Kaikaina asked their group with her usual tact and bluntness.

"Um, I believe they prefer being called seniors." Palomo tried interjecting oh-so-helpfully.

"Either way, old people suck." The younger Grif sibling made a face as she regarded the far away group.

"Maybe he's a traveling diplomat?" Volleyball suggested, helping Andersmith and Jensen with putting the training equipment they had been using into their respective storage containers.

Of course, seeing that reminded him how both he and Matthews had been volunteered by the others to put the stuff away _again_. Bitters swore that if he didn't know any better he would think they were doing it on purpose.

"Or someone important thinking of moving here?" Jensen chimed in.

"Whatever the case, we still have our duties to perform." Andersmith reminded the group pointedly, sealing the traveling container he had been working on.

"Yeah, yeah! We're coming. …And not in the really fun way." Kaikaina reassured him testily.

"You think maybe he's the one who is providing aid for the power outages?" Matthews questioned quietly.

There was a slight pause in the group's activities as they glanced uniformly over to the seemingly influential stranger.

"…Certainly would fit the type." Volleyball finally said at length.

"It would be awesome if he was!" Palomo was grinning at the prospect, "The sooner that gets taken care of, the better we'll all be."

"That's really well said, Palomo!" Jensen nodded her head appreciatively at his comment.

"Y—you think so?" The dark-skinned young man blushed at the surprising praise thrown his way from his not-so-secret crush, grinning like a dork.

That was more of the exchange than Bitters really wanted to take currently.

"Come on." He told Matthews as he hefted several of the storage units in his arms, "Let's get this over with."

"R—right." Matthews replied as he received help from Volleyball, Kaikaina, and Andersmith with stacking up the rest of the storage units.

While it looked like the auburn-haired lieutenant was struggling slightly under the weight, it appeared as if this time a return trip wouldn't be necessary. The two were off as the others continued their conversations, their path taking them rather close to the "Chain of Command" group in their midst as bits of conversation began floating over towards them.

It looked as though Matthews had been right about the man being the one who was going to help fix the power outage situation. His name was Malcolm Hargrove and, evidently, he was the Chairman of something or other. Bitters wasn't able to get a ton of details through the snippets of conversation he was barely able to make out.

The newcomer had just arrived recently, and it seemed as if their leaders were giving him a tour of Chorus that started with the facilities here in Armonia. That made sense too, he supposed. All diplomacy bullshit and the like. That shit he never cared enough to pay attention to.

However, what didn't necessarily sit well with Bitters were the sudden eyes on him and Matthews as they walked past them.

"So what are the statistics of the newer recruits here?" He heard Hargrove saying in a polite, curious-sounding voice before the two rookies were out of earshot.

The dark-skinned man frowned, unsure as to why the question bothered him so much. It was just that the genetically engineered lieutenant wasn't really sure why a guy who was just supplying power outage aid needed that type of information as well.

He sighed in annoyance, shaking his multi-colored hair in the process. _Maybe_ he was just being paranoid. Matthews looked over at him questioningly just then, concern evident in his hazel-colored eyes.

Bitters managed to muster up a reassuring smile, oddly touched by the sentiment. He stepped a little bit closer to Matthews protectively all the same and, if the auburn-haired young man noticed the action, he made no comment on it.

* * *

There was an uncomfortable silence filling the clinic area, which Leonard Church found disconcerting _as all fuck_ since normally one couldn't get either Sarge or Doctor Grey to shut up about any test findings they had on hand.

Still, the couple was remaining uncharacteristically silent just then, datapads with what Church assumed were the results of the myriad of tests they had just run at the ready.

But, the odd looks of unease and regret covering their features did little to ease the tension thick within the space. If anything, it was just serving to really piss him off.

After all, it _wasn't_ just Church who had been waiting oh-so-patiently for the test results to come back. No, Simmons was there as well, the cyborg looking as though he was just minutes away from puking. Sheila and Lopez were also there, quietly holding hands in an attempt to reassure one another as they waited. Fuck, even _Freckles_ was there.

Church had managed to finally convince Caboose to loan the talking gun to him for some quality "Caboose's Two Bestest Friends" bonding time. Freckles had been a little disappointed to learn they weren't going to karaoke as Church had told Caboose, but seemed to understand the reason behind the deception all the same. Currently, the gun was propped up on the wall behind Church.

"So, we ran the gamut as far as tests were concerned." Doctor Grey finally started, glancing over for a nod from Sarge before continuing, "I'm afraid to say that the results were inconclusive."

"W—what?" Simmons' already anxious voice went to a loud squeak at the lousy findings.

"How is that even possible?" Sheila asked, also sounding quite troubled by the news.

"Así que esto era una completa pérdida de tiempo, entonces? Increíble." _{"So this was a complete waste of time then? Unbelievable."}_

Lopez squeezed Sheila's hand even more, the other robot tilting her head gratefully in his direction.

"HARD TO PROCESS." Freckles' loud voice remarked disappointedly from the wall.

"That's because it's _fucking bullshit_ is what it is." For once, it seemed as if Church and Freckles were on the same wavelength even without karaoke, which he supposed Caboose would be glad about.

"Now, hold on!" Sarge took a step forward, "We did learn some things."

"Really? Then leading with that instead of 'inconclusive' is probably the way to go." Church shot back at him.

"Son, I know you're upset, so I am going to let that slide. For once." The red-armored soldier commented, frowning all the same.

"Actually, there was a reason we didn't lead with that." Doctor Grey supplied helpfully, dark eyes glancing down at her datapad once more.

"That reason would be…?" Sheila politely prompted her to continue.

The dark-skinned woman sighed, "We can't say for certain just yet, but the continued power outages could be having a lingering effect on your systems."

Church frowned, thinking back to how his headaches always seemed to last a bit longer with each new outage—even when they were on the mild side. He glanced at Simmons and, seeing the frown deepening on the redhead's face, wondered if something similar wasn't happening with him too.

From the sudden stiffness in Lopez and Sheila's frames, and the abrupt silence from Freckles, the dark-haired man knew that their forced shut downs lasted a few more minutes than the outages did. Obviously that was understandably disconcerting too.

No wonder Doctor Grey and Sarge hadn't wanted to lead with that. It was just more bad news. _Fucking perfect_.

Doctor Grey coughed into the room's sudden stillness, "But, whatever is going on, we won't rest until we figure out a way to combat it." She said, voice both reassuring and emphatic all at once.

"That's right!" Sarge looked at her fondly before vigorously nodding his head, "Don't ya'll fret too much. We'll figure out how to kick this thing in the keister yet!"

There wasn't much they could do beyond running more tests and modifying everyone's respective tech more, but Church was oddly touched by the mad scientist couple's earnestness all the same. He still felt understandably worried as all fuck though. Church hated that feeling and all of the troublesome remembrances it brought along with it.

He couldn't help but sigh again. _Yep, absolutely fucking perfect_.

* * *

Dexter Grif was definitely not what you would call an "errand boy." In fact, there was pretty much _anything_ else he would rather do than go run boring chores for someone else. Like nap. Or eat. Or drink. Or smoke. Or just fucking sit somewhere doing nothing.

But, this time, when Donut had begged him with his patented puppy dog eyes and Tucker had suggested he just " _Get a move on it, fat-ass_." he had decided to do just that. Not really out of a grand desire to be useful or anything. He hadn't done a total personality makeover.

No, the truth was that Grif could really give a shit less about Kimball and the others bringing the rich Chairman over to the warehouse for a "tour" of Chorus. Besides, any reason he had to seek Sarge out normally he would consider suicidal at best.

But, this time, _Simmons_ was one of the people he had been tasked with finding. The genetically engineered soldier was curious enough that he wanted to find out just what it was that the redhead and the others were up to.

After all, it just so happened that it was the two resident mechanical experts, the two resident cyborgs, and the three Virtual Intelligences of their group who were missing. Grif would _not_ call that a coincidence, especially when he found all of them in the clinic area of the warehouse and apparently at the tail end of a conversation that had caused a heavy silence to fall over the group.

Because he was curious and lazy, the tan-skinned man waited a few seconds to see if anyone would reveal something telling about what was going on. But, when nothing forthcoming came, he decided " _Screw it._ " and knocked loudly on the then open doorframe.

"Grif!" Sarge stated both loudly and distastefully at his presence, "Haven't I told you before to sneak in more quietly so that I have an excuse to test my shotgun reflexes?"

"You may keep saying it, but it's never going to happen." Grif rolled his eyes at the older man's commentary before getting straight to the matter at hand, "Anyways, sorry to interrupt _whatever_ this was, but Doyle and the others brought the big wig here for a tour."

"Oh, that's excellent news!" Doctor Grey clapped her hands together loudly, smiling at the assembled group, "That means repairs for the power outages should be underway in no time flat."

There was a reassuring note to her voice that Grif couldn't help but pick up on.

"Plus I'll get to show off more of our modified weaponry." There was a manic gleam in Sarge's brown eyes at the prospect.

"It would be impolite not to introduce ourselves, wouldn't it?" Sheila inquired as she and Lopez made their way past Grif.

"Creo que sí, aunque no es igual que él sabrá lo que estoy diciendo de todos modos." _{"I guess so, though it's not like he'll know what I am saying anyways."}_

Church sighed, grabbing Freckles before following Sarge and Doctor Grey out the door next as he addressed the gun, "Might as well give you back to Caboose too, huh?"

"YOU BETTER." Freckles stated emphatically.

Simmons didn't look Grif in the eye as he moved to walk past him, which automatically made the chubby man even more suspicious as to what this secret meeting had been all about. He reached out and grabbed onto Simmons' shoulder gently, ignoring the sudden tingle throughout his body as he pulled the cyborg back inside the clinic.

"Grif! W—what's wrong?" Simmons asked, looking as though he were already caught at something.

Given who had been assembled for this little meeting and where it had been located, it didn't take Grif too long to hazard a guess about what it had been for. Still, he wanted to hear it from Simmons directly.

"You want to tell me what this meeting was for?" The slightly older man asked quietly, voice and eyes serious.

If there was something going on with the power outages that Simmons wasn't telling him? The orange-wearing soldier's chest constricted both with annoyance and overwhelming worry for the kiss-ass at the thought.

Simmons frowned down at Grif's hand still on his shoulder, a slight blush on his face as he still refused to meet Grif's gaze directly, "I—!" he finally started before ultimately being cut off.

"Grif! Simmons!" Sarge was suddenly standing in the doorway again, looking impatient, "The introductions will be over if you both don't skedaddle!"

"C—coming, Sarge!" Simmons called out, for the first time glancing over at the dark-haired man, "Let's go, Grif."

"Fine." Grif sighed, dropping his hand from Simmons' shoulder and immediately hating the sudden lack of contact, "But we'll talk about this later, okay?"

Simmons gulped nervously, but nodded anyways as the two quickly hurried to follow Sarge towards the main warehouse area.

* * *

Honestly? Richard "Dick" Simmons was grateful for the fact that Sarge had interrupted them when he had, because he still wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to tell Grif. He didn't want the chubbier man to worry about him anymore than he was already. Besides, given how the results for the tests had been vague, there really wasn't much he could tell the fat-ass anyways.

Grif was, for whatever reason, concerned about Simmons and the private meeting he and the others had just had. Simmons felt his face heating up again with that train of thought, though he tried to tell himself that Grif's actions were probably just those of a concerned friend and not out of something more like he secretly craved.

Still, he _should_ tell Grif something, right? Maybe with the fact that the aid had finally reached Chorus, he could reassure both himself _and_ his chubby friend that any worries they were having now were only temporary. At least, he hoped so at any rate.

The main warehouse area was more crowded than normal with all of the Reds and Blues along with Doctor Grey in attendance. Simmons could understand why, given how rare it was for anyone rather important to visit the area. No doubt Sarge wanted to make a good impression, and Simmons would try his hardest not to let his superior down.

"Well, you found them." Tucker told Grif as they joined up with the others, watching Caboose grabbing and hugging Freckles from Church out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the group approaching them.

It seemed that the dark-skinned man's eyes were especially on Wash, as if he was using the former Freelancer's appearance to gauge how he should be reacting to what was going on.

"Yep, and I think I deserve an extra nap." Grif joked.

"You know, too many naps are not good for you." Doc started conversationally nearby.

"Wow, Doc! You really do know a lot of stuff!" Donut exclaimed from next to him as Doc blushed at the praise.

Grif scoffed, "There's no such thing as too many naps, Doc."

Simmons smirked, "I don't know, Grif. With the way you take them?"

Grif gave him the finger, "Quiet, kiss-ass." He stated, though there was an obvious affectionate note in his voice.

Simmons was glad to hear it, knowing it meant that Grif wasn't too mad at him for before and that the tan-skinned man's frustration was more out of concern than anything else, "Fat-ass." The redhead mumbled just as affectionately.

Before they could continue with their usual banter, the group containing the two generals, the two former Freelancers, the two mercenaries, and an older gentleman in a rather expensive-looking suit were making their way towards them.

All conversation promptly shut off as everyone stood at the ready. Well, as at the ready as their oddball familial unit ever was. After all, they knew how important this aid was to Chorus.

As the elderly man approached for the introductions, Simmons couldn't help but frown slightly. There was something oddly familiar in the man's gait and assessing eyes that he couldn't quite put his finger on…

But, the second the Chairman's gaze fell onto him and surprised recognition clouded over his weathered features, Simmons started as the cyborg remembered exactly who the man was. The lanky man vaguely recalled Grif looking over at him questioningly, but Simmons was too focused on the face from his past to fully acknowledge his presence just then.

It seemed as if his father's old friend and business partner remembered him as well, for the next thing out of Malcolm Hargrove's mouth was a questioning, "…Richard?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** DUN DUN DUN DUN~! XD Hargrove has shown up and there was a bit of a surprise at the ending of this chapter which I will definitely be going into in the next one! :)

This was a fun chapter to write, so I hope that you enjoyed reading it too! :D Thank you very much, as always, for putting up with me! :)


	15. Chapter 14

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Fourteen:

There was a heavy, thick silence that filled the warehouse following Malcolm Hargrove's inquiry. Given how deadly still everything had become, one would very likely hear a pin drop from across the large expanse of the warehouse's main area.

Richard "Dick" Simmons' own heartbeat, or what equated to one now in his cybernetic body, was hammering away loudly in his ears. Though the building was designed to be vast, he found that the warehouse was suddenly far too claustrophobic and suffocating.

As the familiar face from his past, a portion of it that he had long since tried to forget no less, regarded him in both shock and an assessing manner, Simmons felt everyone else's eyes on him too. Particularly Grif's.

His face reddened at the prospect of being the center of attention, and the cyborg wanted nothing more than to disappear right then and there. If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Damn laws of physics and reality always working against him!

It was _Sarge_ who decided to break the silence, glancing between Hargrove and Simmons. The older soldier began frowning just as Grif took a protective step closer to the unaware redhead's side.

"If you don't mind my asking, how exactly do you know Simmons?" Sarge asked, voice friendly enough to hide his suspicions.

After all, the Reds' leader knew a great deal about everyone in their little unit's pasts, so he knew that Simmons hadn't had an enjoyable one in a lot of aspects.

"I knew—"

"He was—!"

Both Simmons and Hargrove had spoken up at the exact same time. They glanced at each other with Simmons' expression sheepish while the older man's was rather unreadable. Simmons nodded slightly, acquiescing the right to answer the question to Hargrove.

"I knew his family before they were killed. I was…" Hargrove trailed off, looking rather remorseful at the fact that he was talking in the past tense, "I was friends with Richard's father."

Simmons flinched slightly at the memories this whole situation seemed to be bringing up: of an awkward party and an equally awkward conversation, of Simmons' father's indifferent announcement following it, of his mother's tears…

Of his parents' deaths shortly afterwards.

"I am glad to see that you're alive, Richard." Hargrove said in a soothing voice, smiling slightly, "When I'd heard of what happened, I had assumed the worst."

"I—!" Simmons began, but cut himself off since he wasn't sure _what_ to say to that.

Truthfully, this entire situation had him at a loss for words. He _hated_ it.

Perhaps knowing what Simmons was thinking, Hargrove regarded the redhead sympathetically, "I understand that it's a lot to process." He told him, "Why don't we discuss things later, once we've both had time to let it all sink in?"

Simmons couldn't help but nod his head at the idea, grateful for the suggestion.

The introductions and tour of the warehouse then went on as scheduled, though Simmons paid the proceedings little mind.

The pale man could tell that the others were staring at him every so often with questions of their own. He couldn't bring himself to look over at anyone just then for fear of being asked questions he didn't want to answer, especially Grif.

* * *

Lavernius Tucker swung his sword with practiced ease, the energy blade cleaving through the air in front of him. He grinned, sweat dripping down his face thanks to the numerous times that he had repeated the motion.

Sure, he could use the holographic practice room or one of the many Chorus training halls instead of the park to practice his technique, but where would the fun in that be?

Plus, if the teal-wearing soldier did his training in the park then the odds were good that Washington wouldn't know about it. So, he could then show the Freelancer up whenever the blond-haired man complained that he didn't train enough.

The dark skinned man grinned even more at that particular thought. Not only was that a hell of a lot of fun to do, but he loved the look on Wash's face whenever Tucker managed to get him flustered. It was a win-win. For him, at any rate. He was sure the older man would disagree.

"Hey, Tucker."

Tucker paused his sword practice at the sound of Felix's voice casually greeting him. He turned around to see the mercenary observing from a safe distance.

"Felix. What's up?"

Tucker walked over to him then, noting to himself that he hadn't really seen the orange-trimmed mercenary since the day that he'd helped give Hargrove a tour of Chorus.

That had been a few days ago, though Simmons in particular still seemed as shell-shocked by the encounter with Hargrove as if it had happened mere minutes ago instead. Tucker almost felt sorry for the cyborg. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to suddenly get reminded of events and people from his own past before his having met up with the Reds and Blues.

"Nothing much." Felix shrugged, "Just thought I'd ask how your more _electronically_ enhanced buddies were doing since the repairs started."

Ah, so the mercenary wanted to check up on Church and the others. That made sense. It was probably because he had been the one to suggest to Kimball and Doyle that they go to Hargrove for aid in the first place.

Tucker couldn't help but grin gratefully, "They're doing better now that the outages aren't happening nearly so often." He regarded the dark-haired man thoughtfully, "What about the cyborgs in your unit?"

"About the same, more or less." Felix grinned, "I knew going to Hargrove for help was a good idea."

Tucker couldn't help but roll his eyes at the self-congratulatory note in the other man's voice, "Yeah, yeah. We get it. You're awesome."

"As long as we're all in agreement about that." Felix stated smugly.

Tucker was about to go back to his training just then when Felix surprised him by getting a rather curious look on his face.

"That boy I sometimes see you with," he began, "Is he your son?"

At the sudden mention of Junior, Tucker's blood went cold. It always disconcerted him when people took an interest in Junior, considering how negatively people often treated genetically engineered people. Carolina had been right about him being understandably overprotective in that regard.

Judging by the knowing look on Felix's face, it seemed as if the mercenary had already surmised the answer to his own question well before he had even asked it.

"Hey, no worries! It's not like I'm going to grab the kid or anything. I was just curious. That's all." Felix held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Figured with how obvious his origins are there was an interesting story there. Connected to your alien sword, maybe?"

…Meaning _how obvious_ it was that Junior was a genetically engineered child. Tucker's growing suspicion only rose at that remark along with the comment about Junior's possible connection to his sword. He fought to visibly suppress his sudden distrust.

Tucker was just spending too much time with Wash and Carolina. Surely, Felix didn't mean anything sinisterly evil. The mercenary was just a naturally curious asshole. But, try as Tucker might, his parental instincts were screaming " _Caution!_ " far too loudly to just be ignored.

"That's personal." He finally said at length, his voice sounding frigid to his own ears.

Felix nodded his head then, a look of understanding crossing over his features. "Hey, you're just being a good father is all." He assured Tucker, nodding before wisely deciding to change the subject, "There's a scavenger mission coming up. Guess I should mind my own business and get ready for that, huh?"

Following that question, Felix left with a quick wave of his hand. It took Tucker several minutes afterwards to calm himself down.

His thoughts went to Junior and he had the sudden urge to go to the boy's school to check up on him. Tucker wondered if he shouldn't first tell Wash about the exchange with Felix, though his feet were already moving in the direction of his son.

* * *

Simmons was running an inventory check list for the gear that would be needed on the upcoming retrieval mission.

Judging from the roster this time around, it was going to be a fairly large group going. Wash, Caboose ( _along with Freckles, of course_ ), Tucker, Felix, Locus, Doyle ( _surprisingly enough_ ), and the lieutenants. Plus, one fat-ass named Grif.

The redhead sighed, pausing for a moment to rub a hand over his face as he wondered just what it was he was currently doing. Truth be told, he didn't mind extra work like this. Far from it, actually.

But there was no denying that he had been volunteering himself for extra shifts to avoid talking to Grif or any of the others who might have questions about his past thanks to Hargrove's appearance. Simmons hated himself a little bit for being so cowardly all the time, but it was just too uncomfortable a subject to delve into even more than he already had.

Judging by the suspicious glint he had caught in Grif's dark eyes the day after Hargrove's tour of the warehouse, the cyborg had a sneaking feeling of his own that Grif had already guessed their connection. He wasn't necessarily sure if he wanted to hear the chubbier man's opinion on it just then though as he was still in the process of trying to figure out what to do himself.

However, Simmons knew that he couldn't just keep avoiding the issue by doing extra work forever. From the look on Doctor Grey's face when he had passed her in the hallway earlier that day, the pale skinned man had a feeling he was soon going to be _ordered_ away from the warehouse.

"Richard?"

The all-too familiar voice intruded into his thoughts just then, and Simmons nearly knocked over the scanning equipment he had been just about to pack up. No matter how the redhead tried to keep things organized, it never stuck given everyone else's messier habits. Suddenly he was hyper-aware of the mess in the room.

Of course that could also be due to the fact that Malcolm Hargrove was standing in the doorway of the workshop, looking at the haphazard piles of equipment and items scattered about disdainfully before turning his attention back to the nervous cyborg.

Simmons swallowed nervously, "S—sir?"

He hadn't encountered Hargrove since the tour of the warehouse. The older man had been kept busy trying to help oversee the beginning repairs to Chorus' power outage situation. Truthfully, though it had meant that he had been left to stew in how the eventual interaction would perhaps play out, Simmons had been somewhat glad all the same.

"It feels like you've been trying to avoid me, Richard." Hargrove shot him a pointed look just then, "You should remember well enough that I don't appreciate being ignored."

"S—sorry." Simmons blanched at the remark, "I didn't mean to. I…I just thought you were busy and—!"

"I was, but I meant what I said about wanting to catch up." Hargrove waved a hand through the air dismissively, "Though I suppose I can understand your misgivings."

Simmons looked at the ground, both nervous and embarrassed all at once, "I…"

"My dear boy, there's no need to worry." Hargrove cut him off, seemingly amused by Simmons' reaction, "The contract between your father and I was for when you were a _child_ still. I have no interest in adopting a grown man."

Right. Of course. It was silly of Simmons to even be _thinking_ of that anymore.

Hargrove stepped closer, eyes on the synthetic skin portion of Simmons' face, "I just wish to catch up with a family friend who has clearly been through quite a lot since last we met. If that's all right with you?"

"Of…of course, sir!" Simmons couldn't help but shakily smile in relief at the direction this conversation was going in.

Following that, the two ended up talking for quite a bit about what they had both been up to following his parents' deaths with Hargrove listening patiently and sympathetically to it all. By the time the older man had to take his leave, Simmons felt more relaxed and at ease than he had in the past few days.

* * *

Dexter Grif was walking back to the apartment complex following his second dinner of the evening when he decided to stop by the warehouse. If he was being honest with himself, his main reason for heading towards the warehouse was to check to see if Simmons was there overworking himself yet again.

Usually Grif would just check the nerd's apartment, but these last couple of days that had been proven to be a bust. So, he figured if he wanted to be sure to catch Simmons, he'd have to check the kiss-ass' work area too.

He wanted to check in on the redhead more than he'd probably ever care to admit to. Following Doc and Donut's advice to give Simmons some time and space had been one of the hardest things he'd done recently.

But, if the cyborg just happened to _be_ somewhere that Grif was visiting that was totally okay in his book. If there was one thing Grif knew how to take advantage of, it would be a technical loophole.

The orange-wearing soldier was surprised to see Church, Sheila, and Lopez standing in a cluster together by the warehouse steps. The trio seemed to be discussing something at length as he approached.

"It's good to know that your headaches have become more manageable, Church." Sheila stated as Grif neared them, "Our power shutdowns have as well."

"Yeah, I just wish it would stop being a fucking problem altogether." Church sighed and shook his head, "But I guess it's better to see some improvement than nothing."

Ah, so they were talking about the repairs being made to help combat the power outages. Grif thought of their symptoms and of Simmons'. It was good that things seemed to be improving at least a little bit on that front.

"Por ejemplo, cómo supongo que uno de interrumpir Fecha Noche es mejor que todos ustedes." _{"Like how I suppose one of you interrupting Date Night is better than all of you."}_

Sheila gave Lopez's hand a consoling squeeze at whatever he had just said.

"Hey, guys." Grif took the opportunity to walk over to them.

"...No importa." _{"…Never mind."}_

The tan skinned man could _swear_ he heard what sounded like electronic sighing coming from the brown-armored robot.

Sheila cast a sympathetic glance her boyfriend's way before patiently acknowledging Grif, "Greetings, Grif. Are you here to check on the equipment for the upcoming scavenging mission?"

Church scoffed, "Yeah, like work is ever on Grif's mind." He smirked, "But I bet I know why he's here."

"Todos lo hacemos. No es como si fuera una sorpresa más." _{"We all do. It's not like it's a surprise anymore."}_

Sheila nodded her head at whatever Lopez had said before stating, "Simmons is in the backroom."

Grif frowned for a moment, wondering if he really _was_ that transparent before nodding his thanks to Sheila and giving Church the finger as he headed inside the warehouse. Hopefully, Sheila and Lopez could get away from Church in a little while since he knew today was the robotic couple's "Date Night" or whatever the fuck they were calling it now.

In the warehouse, the genetically engineered man was caught off guard when he headed to the back workroom to find Malcolm Hargrove of all people going the opposite direction.

"Ah." The older man looked at him curtly, "Grif, was it?"

"That's right." Grif couldn't help but feel slightly on edge around the Chairman, especially given his suspicion as to Hargrove's _actual_ connection to Simmons.

"If you're looking for Simmons, he's still working." Hargrove began moving past him as though he couldn't be bothered to be in the chubby man's presence any longer than was necessary, "If you'll excuse me."

Grif didn't even wait until Hargrove was gone down the hallway before entering the workroom.

There was Simmons by the table, a little bit startled by what was obviously the second intrusion into his inventory checking that day. The cyborg stood up straighter, red-faced, when he saw who it was this time.

"Grif, I—!"

"I saw Hargrove." Grif cut in without preamble, expression serious, "What were you guys talking about?"

"The…the past." Simmons shrugged, swallowing nervously, "He wanted to catch up on everything."

"I see." Grif wasn't sure why, but Simmons' vague answers about what had happened were annoying him.

Perhaps as if sensing that, the redhead fidgeted, "Actually, Hargrove was the one who…" he swallowed again before continuing, "Wanted to adopt me in the past."

 _That_ confirmed all of Grif's suspicions then as he nodded in apathetic understanding, "So what does he want now?"

It still startled him how naïve Simmons could be when it came to the "adoption" story. He felt like he had to be the cautious one here, for the nerd's sake.

"N—nothing." Simmons informed him, still a bit flustered probably by Grif's tone and demeanor, "I told you. He just wanted to catch up."

"Right." Grif was tempted to press the matter further, but knew doing so might cause Simmons to retreat again and he definitely didn't want that. So, he changed subjects for the moment by asking: "What were you doing before you two caught up?"

Simmons blinked, apparently both surprised and relieved at the change in subject, "I was just going through the inventory for the upcoming retrieval mission."

"Oh. So, nerd stuff then." Grif nodded his head in understanding, "Gotcha."

"It's—it's not _nerd_ stuff!" Simmons puffed out his chest defensively at the teasing, "You should be helping to prepare for it too, Grif!"

Grif smirked and shrugged his shoulders indifferently to the suggestion, "Hey, I _prepare_ for them by actually bothering to show up."

"That's—!"

"Besides," and he cut into Simmons' protest before it could even begin, "You know me, Simmons. My preparation for anything is a good rest and asking the important questions in life."

Simmons sighed in defeat, "Such as…?"

Grif's grin got even wider as he pulled out a treasure from their pasts years ago standing on sentry duty back when they were first starting to become friends and possibly a bit more to one another, "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

"You're the worst." But Simmons was trying to hide his own nostalgic smile as he said it.

That got the two men talking again about all sorts of topics under the sun like they normally would, to the point where the awkwardness of the past few days was completely forgotten.

In fact, they lost track of time so much that the only thing that brought them back to reality hours later was Church loudly yelling from the doorway that he would find a hose and turn it on them if they didn't let other people do some actual " _goddamned work_ " sometime soon.

Slightly red in the face at the very loud interruption considering that Church did not have what could be described as an "indoor voice," Grif and Simmons still couldn't hide their smiles either.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** So we learned a bit more about the connection between Simmons and Hargrove. Yes, Grif is right in that the "adoption" wasn't nearly as nice as Simmons seems to want to believe it was despite his own past recollections of it. Felix also managed to get a bit under Tucker's skin in this chapter too. Oh, and Church is apparently a "moment killer" for everyone in this story verse. XD

With Hargrove thrown more into the mix now, things will definitely be intensifying in this story as he isn't nearly as helpful to everyone as he seems to be currently (big shocker there, I bet! XD). But, I was glad I was able to end this chapter with a softer moment between Grif and Simmons all the same. :D

I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. Thank you for taking the time to read it! :D


	16. Chapter 15

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Fifteen:

Vanessa Kimball stood outside the office, inwardly debating with herself about whether or not she really wanted to go in. At length, she steeled herself and knocked.

The door opened a moment later with a hurried " _Coming—!_ " Of course, whatever else Donald Doyle had been about to say was cut off as he stood at the now open doorway, regarding the dark skinned woman in his midst with more than just a bit of surprise.

"Ah, Miss Kimball!" The older man started up again, giving her space so that she could enter the room, "What brings you here?"

Kimball glanced around Doyle's office, not quite sure what she had been expecting. She was surprised at how similarly "lived in" his work space seemed to be when compared to her own office in Armonia. It seemed as if she wasn't the only one putting in late nights and early mornings when it came to the running of Chorus. If the genetically engineered woman was being honest with herself, she wasn't quite sure how to process that realization just yet.

She supposed it at least gave the two Chorus leaders another "plank of common ground" to stand on, as Doc or Cass might try to put it. However, such a realization did not mesh well with her earlier thoughts and opinions on the man standing before her, and it seemed as if that first impression was still a milestone she needed to get over.

Kimball sighed inwardly at her own stubbornness before the sight of travel gear and freshly polished white and gold armor sitting in the corner of Doyle's office reminded her of the reason behind her visit.

"I take it that it's true then that you'll be going on the next reclaiming mission as well?" She asked without preamble, ignoring Doyle's earlier inquiry entirely.

Doyle's expression turned to a mix of understanding and something not quite definable. Disappointment, perhaps? Kimball shook her head at the very idea since she knew that couldn't be right.

The other Chorus leader nodded at her inquiry, "Yes, well, more fellows are going this time around since the ruins are fairly large."

That was true, though it still didn't explain why _he_ specifically had to come along. Her trail of thought must have been showing on her face because Doyle fidgeted slightly under her dark eyed gaze just then.

"As you know, the power situation in Chorus has improved but hasn't gone away completely." He informed her, nodding his head in the direction of the gear, "Chalk it up to me being either foolish or selfish, but in this moment I simply want to do _more_ to help Chorus in any way I can."

Kimball could understand his logic more than she'd ever probably care to admit. Hell, it was the main reason why she so often stayed at the office or went out on patrols instead of just taking free time herself.

Given that, she was almost a little upset that Doyle had beaten her to the punch when it came to volunteering for this mission. Maybe that was why she had felt so compelled to confirm things with him in the first place, even though in this instance there was definitely something in Doyle's resolve to do right by Chorus that she couldn't help but respect.

"I wouldn't say that." Kimball finally stated at length, "I think it's admirable. In a way."

"Y—you do?"

It seemed as if it was now Doyle's turn to look stunned. Kimball would have been annoyed by that reaction in any other situation, but she was currently more or less amused by it.

"Actually, I'm a little upset that you beat me to it." The dark-haired woman finally admitted, deciding to take pity on the man.

Doyle regarded her with a mix of surprise and regret at what was only partially a joke, "Miss Kimball…" he began.

But Kimball cut him off with a wave of her hand, "There's plenty of things that need to be done here, so I'll be fine." She reassured him, "I'll be sure to hold down the fort while you're out adventuring for Chorus."

She halfway expected him to get annoyed at her choice of words, launching them into yet another pointless debate. Instead, Kimball was surprised when a serious look crossed over Doyle's face.

"I wouldn't have even thought of volunteering if I didn't believe that to be true." He told her emphatically.

It was the genetically engineered woman's turn to be caught off-guard. She blinked, ignoring the odd sensation of heat that burned at her face just then. She coughed to cover up her sudden awkwardness, "Yes, well, if it is all the same I'd ask that you don't take too many unnecessary risks out there."

Doyle laughed, his own face a bit red, "Rest assured, Miss Kimball, I plan on taking every precaution I can."

Taking that as her cue for dismissal, Kimball wasn't quite sure why she felt a small tinge of relief at his words.

* * *

Lavernius Tucker was taking a break from gear checks as he sat in the kitchen area of the warehouse with Washington.

He had finally convinced the Freelancer that the blond needed a break too, so they were currently sitting over two cups of steaming coffee. Wash seemed to just be enjoying the momentary silence. Hell, even Tucker had to admit that it was pretty nice, although it wasn't like he'd ever fucking say it out loud.

Still, there was also something on the dark skinned man's mind that he felt he really needed to get off his chest all the same. After all, it had been bugging him for a while now and, since it was just the two of them, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to bring it up.

"You know," Tucker began casually enough because _he was smooth as fuck_ , finger running along the rim of his coffee mug, "I'm actually kind of relieved you and the lieutenants are coming along with us for this mission."

Since the ruins they were going to be investigating were evidently quite massive, the reclaiming team had expanded just this once to accommodate a larger traveling party. Carolina would be coming along again, as would Felix and Locus. Fuck it, even _Doyle_ had expressed an interest in going.

Wash had evidently felt that this would be a great training opportunity for the newer recruits, so he had requested to Kimball that they come along as well. Under his supervision, of course. After all, the rookies might even end up going on more reclaiming or scavenging missions in the future.

"You are?" Wash glanced over at Tucker in surprise, no doubt having expected the younger man to say that the lieutenants' presence in particular would be more of a hassle than anything else.

In a lot of other situations, the former Freelancer would probably be right on the money with that assessment. Tucker didn't always have a shitload of patience when it came to the lieutenants. But, in this case, he sure as hell welcomed more people on their upcoming reclaiming mission.

"Let's just say I'm not as okay with Felix hanging around all the time as I used to be." He shrugged, staring off into the distance, "Honestly, I'm kind of fucking glad that he's been hanging out with his group and that Hargrove dude more than he's been showing up around here."

"What happened?" The look on Wash's face and the tone of his voice indicated that he was _not_ going to take any joking on Tucker's sudden change of demeanor in regards to the steel and orange-armored mercenary.

Tucker shrugged, "Nothing major." He admitted because in the grand scheme of things it hadn't been, not really, "But he asked me about Junior once and it…" he sighed before continuing, "Kind of freaked me the fuck out."

Wash closed his gray eyes, taking in a deep breath. The blond was the type of person who said more in weighted silence than he ever could in words. It was one of his more annoyingly endearing qualities.

Tucker, not being a fan of silence himself, continued the conversation on his own, "I mean, I know I'm probably just being paranoid over nothing but…"

He trailed off and glanced over at a contemplative Wash who was picking the worst possible time to be a non-responsive jackass. Leave it to the genetically engineered man to not take a hint and just continue to sit there like a stick in the mud.

"You see, this is the part of the conversation where you're supposed to tell me it's all in my head, dude." Tucker informed him with a sigh before shaking his head, "Never mind. I totally forgot who I was talking to."

"Sorry, Tucker." Wash winced apologetically, though he surprised Tucker a second later by smiling awkwardly, "Though I _am_ actually glad for the chance to be out on the field with you again."

While Tucker knew that Washington was no doubt reassessing Felix's potential threat level based on what he had just told the former Freelancer, the teal-armored soldier couldn't help but smile earnestly at the prospect of going out on a mission with Wash again too.

* * *

It didn't take long for Matthews to realize that it was really only Carolina, Doc, Donut, and Church who were helping the lieutenants with getting their gear ready for the upcoming mission. Apparently, the others had decided to make themselves scarce.

He knew that Lopez and Sheila were off doing repairs to some of their latest reclaimed tech, while Tucker had pulled Wash away for a "break" after five minutes of "helping" the lieutenants. The auburn-haired rookie also knew that in less than two minutes of "assisting" the rookies, Caboose had been deemed too much of a fire risk.

So, the blond and Freckles were playing "tag" in the holographic training room, as the odds of Caboose setting something on fire there were minimal at best—though people would be lying if they said it hadn't happened on more than one occasion all the same.

Simmons and Grif were who-knows-where, and evidently Sarge and Doctor Grey had gone out on a supply run that may or may not in reality be a date given their handholding as they did so. Talk about a power couple you would probably not want to cross _ever_.

While the idea of going on their first reclaiming mission was an exciting one, Matthews had to admit that it was more than a little nerve-wracking all the same, especially with the power situation still being what it was in Chorus.

He glanced over at his fellow lieutenants, feeling the same excitable-yet-nervous energy filtering around all of them. Andersmith was already finished with his gear pack and was now double-checking it to make sure he had gotten everything. …Well, more like _triple_ -checking it at this point.

Carolina was demonstrating something about armor clasps to Volleyball and Kai. While they were listening intently to whatever it was the redheaded woman was saying, Matthews could swear that he saw his sister and Kai's fingertips touching slightly. He blinked, wondering if he was either just seeing things or if he needed a stronger glasses prescription.

His other sister was huddled close to Palomo as the two rookies went over what was in their gear packs together, talking to one another in low whispers. Just this once, Matthews was pleasantly surprised to see that the smile on Jensen's face was nearly a match for Palomo's.

As for Bitters…

He paused, frowning. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't really sure _where_ Bitters had gone off to. The orange-trimmed lieutenant had finished loading his own gear pack, but then he had disappeared—probably figuring that with his pack secured there wasn't any reason to stick around longer.

Matthews sighed as he tried lifting his heavy pack towards the ground transport they were going to be using. Maybe Bitters just really didn't like being around them and…

"Hey."

He was suddenly startled from his thoughts by the former mercenary standing directly in front of him, evidently amused at having caught Matthews off-guard.

"H—hi." Matthews fidgeted nervously, face turning crimson at the unexpected interaction.

Bitters raised a dark eyebrow before pointing to the gear pack that the yellow-trimmed lieutenant had been struggling with, "You want help with that?"

Dumbly, the auburn-haired youth nodded and watched enviously as Bitters put it into the transport without any sign of struggle whatsoever.

"You know," he began conversationally, "You _will_ have to carry that thing out on the field."

Matthews' face flushed even more at the teasing, "I—I know! I can carry it on my back. No problem!"

"Uh-huh. Sure." Bitters joked before turning to Palomo and Jensen to offer them the same assistance, much to their pleasant surprise.

By the time Bitters had come back to stand next to Matthews, the slightly younger rookie's face had cooled down a bit and his heart wasn't hammering quite so much in his chest. Instead, he was bent over a tracking device, seeing if he could get it working again.

Bitters bent down next to Matthews after observing the other young man for a few moments, "Need some more help?" he asked.

Matthews wasn't sure why he felt both relieved and grateful for Bitters' presence as he did, but he enthusiastically nodded his head all the same. The two young men smiled briefly at one another before getting to work, the interaction not going unnoticed in the room.

"Oh, oh!" Donut stage whispered excitedly so that everyone within earshot heard, not even noticing that in his earnestness he was squeezing a blushing Doc's hand tightly to get his attention, "Isn't _that_ just the cutest thing ever?"

Doc was staring directly at the gleeful Donut, red-faced and smiling slightly himself when he nodded, "Yes, it is."

From next to them, Church glanced from the lieutenants to Doc and Donut before groaning exasperatedly and walking off to the warehouse's kitchen area: "I'm going to need a shitload more caffeine to get through this."

* * *

Richard "Dick" Simmons sighed in annoyance. He couldn't believe he had to mention this _every single fucking time_ Grif coerced him ( _more like begged, really_ ) to help him with packing his gear.

"Grif, replacing your First Aid Kit and extra ammunition with snack cakes is not how you're supposed to prepare for missions!"

Grif shot him a blank, almost pitying look then that had Simmons wanting to reach under the work table and kick him right in the shins, "Umm, it might not be how you prepare for your missions, Simmons, but it's definitely how I prepare for mine."

"How?" Simmons asked incredulously, "By making sure you're completely ill-equipped to deal with any kind of emergency that might pop up?"

"Having a full stomach is the best preparation. For anything." The chubbier man said in a voice that was clearly attempting to be sage-like.

The cyborg rolled his eyes, "Sure, because that will help if those Insurrection assholes or raiders show up."

"Even if that _does_ happen, with so many extra people coming along this time," Grif shrugged lazily, "Including crazy ass prepared Wash and Carolina I might add, I think we'll have supplies covered."

"Grif…" The redhead began before trailing off in futility, wishing that the orange-armored soldier would take things seriously for once.

Perhaps there was something in his tone or body language just then that conveyed what he was thinking, because Grif regarded him for a moment before sighing and rolling his eyes. "Fine." He muttered apathetically, pulling the pack over and reaching for the First Aid Kit he had taken out before, "I'll make room for the 'nonessentials' too. Happy, now?"

"Better." Though Simmons had to bite down a frown as to how Grif could consider medical supplies and ammunition as 'nonessentials' for going out on a potentially dangerous mission but snack cakes were apparently a top priority, "Thank you, Grif."

They fell into silence as Grif begrudgingly rearranged the gear in his pack once more. While he did that, Simmons sorted through some of the other equipment that the tan skinned man would be taking with him out on the field.

It was their usual comfortable silence, and Simmons eased into it like he was snuggling into an old, comfy blanket. He hadn't realized how much he had missed moments like this until just now.

Grif glanced over at him a few minutes later, the look in his brown eyes indicating that he wanted to talk about something. At length, he finally did so by stating conversationally: "Cass and Andersmith have finally started dating."

That little tidbit of unexpected information caused Simmons to pause briefly, "O—oh?"

He had known that Andersmith had a crush on the bartender for a while now. Plus, Cass seemed nice enough, so he supposed that was fairly good news to hear.

"Yeah, he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out." Grif remarked, shaking his head, "If he'd waited any longer, I think she would have gotten fed up and asked him herself."

That's right. Both Grif and Kai were friends with Cass from way before Simmons had even met them. In fact…

Simmons swallowed down the sudden knot in his stomach at the memory of what he had stumbled onto a while ago, though he knew it posed a question he probably should ask given the _why_ as to how it had occurred in the first place.

"What…what about your re—release then?" Simmons managed to squeak out awkwardly, face turning a vibrant shade of red as he did so.

Cass had been helping Grif with that when he needed it as a friend. Grif was always sure to emphasize that point whenever he brought the subject up to Simmons, so the cyborg stuck to it like a mantra in his head. So, if Cass was dating someone now, did that mean Grif would go to strangers for release then, or start actually dating himself?

Either scenario was enough to make Simmons want to bury his head in the sand or vomit. Or both. Grif was quiet for a long moment, too long of one in Simmons' opinion. The redhead glanced over at the other man, surprised to find him staring at his gear pack with a contemplative frown on his face.

"Gr—Grif?" Simmons choked out, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer to his question but becoming concerned by the sudden silence all the same.

Grif looked over at him, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes and an uncharacteristically serious look suffusing his facial features. It even seemed as if he might be…blushing? But, that couldn't possibly be right since the only fucking person in the room was Simmons.

"Yeah. About that." Grif finally began, "Simmons…"

But, whatever the genetically engineered man had been about to say was cut off a second later by Church's voice yelling from somewhere down the hallway, " _We're just about finished loading up the transport. Grif, your fat ass and gear better be fucking ready!_ "

Both Grif and Simmons sighed, knowing they only had about ten seconds before an impatient Leonard Church came in the workroom to hound them for said gear so that they would be finally finished with all of their tasks for today. Grif's sigh turned into a groan as he stood up, not wanting to deal with a more-than-usual irate Church.

The heavyset man hoisted his pack onto his shoulders and headed towards the door, stopping to glance over at Simmons again with the same serious look on his face as before, "We'll talk about this later, all right?" he asked.

Simmons, still caught off-guard by how uncharacteristically serious Grif was being, nodded mutely. His confirmation seemed to relax Grif at least somewhat as he watched the orange-armored soldier's shoulders sag slightly in relief as the door opened…

…Only for the tan skinned man to stiffen visibly at the sight of Malcolm Hargrove on the other side of the doorway.

"Ah, hello." Hargrove stated curtly in way of greeting, "I was just stopping by to visit with Richard."

Grif paused, glancing back over at Simmons and seeming rather reluctant to leave all of a sudden when " _Grif, you better be done fucking packing that shit!_ " could be heard from Church right around the corner of the hallway.

Grif sighed, torn about what to do but ultimately deciding not to have the cobalt-wearing cyborg track him and Simmons down. No point in making things even more awkward.

"We'll talk later, Simmons." The dark-haired man said in a voice that made his words sound like a promise before he moved past Hargrove with an equally curt nod.

Hargrove waited until Grif was out of earshot before stepping into the workroom, "You certainly have a lively group of friends, Richard." He commented wryly.

Simmons felt his face heat up slightly at the comment, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or something else.

"They—they're like family, sir." He stated earnestly, the words hitting the truth of the matter succinctly.

After all, the Reds and the Blues had been his family ever since he had lost his own so long ago.

Hargrove nodded his head in understanding, eyes going to the closed door, "Even that Grif fellow?" He asked.

"W—what?" Simmons felt what served as his heart skip a beat at this particular line of questioning, even his face plating began to heat up.

Hargrove glanced at him in mild amusement, "It's obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together that you care more for that genetically engineered young man than as either a friend or a family member."

"I—I…!" Simmons started to stutter in his panic of having been so obviously found out, though he managed to clamp down on one thing that Hargrove had said and used it to focus his thoughts and hopefully change subjects, "H—how did you know that Grif is genetically engineered?"

Hargrove shrugged as if the answer was unimportant, "I simply have experience telling them apart from normal people." He explained, though his gaze remained firmly locked on Simmons, "Though I am more curious as to just how far your relationship with him has progressed."

Damn it. So, his brilliant attempt at redirecting the conversation turned into a complete failure. Simmons supposed that was par the course for him. Truthfully? This line of questioning from his father's old friend was definitely not one that Simmons wanted to travel down anytime soon.

With his face probably now just as red as Sarge's armor, Simmons made a move to get past Hargrove. He could feel his brain working in overdrive to try to make a polite excuse as to why he couldn't stay and chat. Instead, all the redhead could think about were conversations that never seemed to go anywhere but always left a smile on his face, that one time in the shade so long ago, Grif's promise to talk later, and…

Suddenly the power flickered, and he _stalled_ as his body went weak. The only thing that kept him from falling to the ground just then was being able to lean against the work table in the nick of time. He blinked as the lighting seemed to return to normal, his grip on the table's edge tightening even as his body still felt drained.

"Richard?" Hargrove was hovering over him in assessing concern, his line of far too personal questioning from before evidently forgotten in the wake of seeing the cyborg nearly collapse.

"I…I'm fine, sir!" Simmons managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"Doubtful." The older man's tone took on an authoritative note as he asked, "It's the power outages, isn't it?"

Simmons nodded, "I've been…hesitant to tell my friends just how much of an issue they've been."

Just as hesitant as he knew Church and the others affected by the power outages were too.

"That's understandable." Hargrove muttered.

When the pale skinned man saw an almost remorseful look cross over the chairman's weathered features, Simmons was quick to add, "B—but things have been getting better since the repairs have started!"

It was true, really. Though they still happened from time-to-time, the power outages' frequencies and durations were less than before.

"That's good to know." Hargrove patted the redhead's shoulder reassuringly, "We're doing everything in our power to put a stop to them once and for all. We'll get there, Richard."

Simmons couldn't help but smile, grateful for the man's kindness and the change of conversation too. He hoped that what Hargrove said would prove true sooner rather than later.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Geez, Hargrove is a pretty good actor, huh? XD Things are going to start picking up in the next chapter, so I hope that you're looking forward to it!

Also, in-between updates to this fic, _Remnants_ , and _Shiny Things_ I'm going to probably be posting some prequel stories for this story-verse soon too. I'll be starting with a Simmons one. Hopefully, they will be enjoyable reads and help to flesh out this AU even more!

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this! :D


	17. Prelude for Losers? (1): Simmons

_**Prelude for Losers?**_ : **Simmons**

 _Find out what happened before the events of_ When We Were Soldiers _in the_ Prelude for Losers? _specials!_

 _In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus._

 _The first story is Simmons'._

 _Main Pairing(s): Grimmons_

 _Background Pairing(s): N/A_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

 _Prelude for Losers?_ —  Simmons:

From Richard "Dick" Simmons' perspective, the party was far too loud and suffocating. The redhead hated these kinds of events, and he especially hated how his father forced him to attend them.

This was his father's party. These were _his_ guests and business associates, not Simmons'. Simmons was only fourteen! Forcing him to attend these professional parties was practically tantamount to torture.

Simmons was fourteen, gangly and awkward. He was well aware of the fact that his father saw him as more of an embarrassment to their family's proud lineage than anything else. The look of disappointment that crossed his father's face whenever his lanky son entered a room didn't go unnoticed.

Truthfully, _why_ his father even wanted Simmons at these types of events given his utter disdain for his offspring was beyond the boy's comprehension.

This party was even more insufferable than the others Simmons had attended in the past. Being forced to "mingle" was destroying what little anxious nerves he had left. The atmosphere was stuffy and downright oppressive. Simmons couldn't _breathe_.

The conversations around him were either all of the dull and super boring variety, or they were of the depressing topic of the ongoing war and how their region was evidently now a Red one.

The pale skinned boy hated hearing about a planet-wide conflict being broken down into numbers and business models, especially when _real_ people were out there fighting and dying for whatever reasons they might have. The thought of it all had always been enough to turn Simmons' stomach.

His mother would say his reaction was because he was a sensitive soul. His father would say it was because he was weak. When it came to how he viewed himself, Simmons honestly wasn't sure which of his parents' sentiments was the most truthful, and that made him feel even more pathetic.

Simmons could picture his father's disapproving glare, could hear the mental accusation that was no doubt lurking beneath those cold green eyes. He wondered, for not the first time in his life, if in his father's assessment he had found his truth.

After what seemed like _hours_ and _hours_ , his mother looked up from her conversation with some of his father's business associates' spouses. She only ever seemed truly happy in these fleeting moments by herself, and that always made Simmons feel sad and guilty somehow.

The redheaded woman must have noticed how miserable her son appeared. She offered him a sympathetic sort of smile and nodded her head, giving him the out that he had been desperately craving since the night began.

Simmons took it without a second thought, relieved to finally be free from the stagnant party of adults.

* * *

When Simmons came bounding up the steps to the third story of the mansion that his father called their family's " _residence_ ," he was at first undisturbed by the sight of the open door to his sanctuary. Honestly, the teen was just relieved to get away from the source of his anxiety.

At this level, party noises still filtered through the floors in soft, muted tones. But, he could tune them out if he focused enough. At any rate, it was far better than being down there in the midst of a stuffy business gala.

Still, the sight of his bedroom door being opened gave him pause. He always kept it closed due to his father not wanting to be reminded of his son's more academic leanings. Simmons likened the room to being his own private sanctuary of sorts, so that was fine with him. Really.

The door being ajar wasn't entirely unusual though. Perhaps one of the servants had just forgotten to close it again, which meant he should do so now to keep them from getting in trouble with his parents. Considering how the redhead had planned on staying in there the rest of the night, it wouldn't pose a hindrance for him.

But, just as Simmons reached for the door's control panel, he paused at the sight of one of the party guests standing in the middle of his bedroom.

He vaguely recognized the older man from his father's earlier introductions, though it took a moment for the name associated with the weathered face to mesh inside the lanky boy's surprised brain. Malcolm…Hargrove, he believed it was.

All Simmons really knew about Hargrove was that he was a business associate of his father's as well as something of a friend. Oh, and that he was intimidating as _fuck_.

The older man hadn't even turned around, but he apparently sensed Simmons' dumbfounded expression on his back.

"Quite an impressive collection of scholarly achievements, Richard." Hargrove told him, motioning to the wall where Simmons' awards and good scores, even though he still wasn't the best at test taking no matter how hard he tried, were displayed.

Simmons was so caught off-guard by the compliment that he blinked, his brain unsure of how to process it.

"My father thinks they're pointless." He finally blurted out, and he could kick himself for saying something that would probably get back to his father and make him even _more_ disappointed in his son.

Hargrove turned to look at him directly then, and there was something in his assessing gaze that caused Simmons to stand up straighter. It was like the look his father stared through him with, only a million times worse because Hargrove was directing it _at_ him. The redhead couldn't help but squirm uncomfortably under the intensity.

"Yes, well," Hargrove smiled thinly, "Your father has much to learn when it comes to intellectual pursuits."

Simmons was unsure of how to respond to what seemed almost like a jab at his father. So, he simply nodded mutely, figuring it was his best option.

Hargrove moved past him to leave, stopping for just a moment to pat Simmons on the shoulder, "I hope the rest of the evening finds you well, Richard." He told him in a disinterested manner that indicated he didn't really care either way.

Simmons remained standing in the doorway for a long time after Hargrove left, not exactly sure how to process the strange encounter.

* * *

It was about a week later that his father told him out of the blue that Malcolm Hargrove would be adopting him. Simmons had stared blankly at the serious expression his father wore, unsure if he had heard him correctly or not.

"Did I stutter, Richard?" His father asked after several moments had passed.

"I… No." Simmons blinked, swallowing down all of the unprocessed feelings the news was bringing to the surface, "I'm sorry, Father. I heard you."

The adoption would officially take place when Hargrove arrived back in the region next month, though the papers had already been signed.

His father seemed pleased, as if he had made a great profit at someone else's expense. He even smiled proudly at his son for the first time ever, and that actually _hurt_.

Simmons' mother said nothing on the topic, but she would often gaze at Simmons as though she wanted to cry.

Simmons felt much the same way.

* * *

A week later and Simmons was standing in front of the rubble of the mansion that his father had always called their " _residence_ " instead of their home, battered and alone.

He was fourteen. His parents had been killed in a pointless war and now he truly had no one.

Relatives he had never known about had swooped down onto the rubble like vultures to see what his parents had left them. They had wanted nothing to do with the shell-shocked boy his parents had left behind, especially after they learned of the adoption plans.

After all, in their view that meant that he was no longer a competitor for anything from the Simmons' estate.

Simmons was fourteen, had nothing, and was alone.

He couldn't _breathe_ , he couldn't even cry. He just wanted to collapse somewhere and never move again. But, he didn't want to stay _here_ either. He wasn't sure he wanted the future that his father had planned out for him, one that would surely be waiting if he lingered.

Simmons was fourteen, and he was alone. So, that was why he ran away.

* * *

Simmons was huddled in a street corner somewhere, his clothes nothing more than gritty rags over his slender limbs. He was starving and thirsty, having no idea which region he had stumbled upon.

The redhead didn't even have the energy to ask anyone if they were Red or Blue this week. He was so tired he didn't even care that he was covered in dirt and sweat. Honestly, he just wanted to sleep and ignore the pain in his belly and give in to the exhaustion seeping all over…

Someone poked him with their foot just as he was drifting off.

"Hey, kid! You okay?" An unfamiliar male voice spoke from somewhere above him.

"He's fine, North. I mean, he just felt like collapsing here. Obviously." A testy female voice remarked.

Simmons started, surprised to see two older teenagers with pale blond hair and blue eyes regarding him curiously.

"You hungry?" The boy apparently named North asked him gently.

Simmons' stomach betrayed him even before his green eyes filled with tears.

* * *

Their names were North and South Dakota, and they were twins who had grown up in the area all by themselves. They brought Simmons into their home, taught him how to survive.

For a time, Simmons was almost happy. He was fourteen and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he could maybe pretend like he had a real family.

* * *

The next time everything changed for Simmons was actually, in the grand scheme of things, a quiet, uneventful day save for the fact that the region they were living in had changed to Blue overnight.

The changes between the sides were so common in this region that the twins had something of a pool going on regarding it. In fact, this last time South had betted North it would take at least another month for Red to fall. She probably wouldn't be too happy about having to pay up.

Simmons had gotten some food in return for helping a local mechanic for the day, and he was eager to share it with his two roommates. He was beyond surprised when he bounded up the stairs, all gangly and full of happy energy, to find the apartment door open.

The sparse furnishings they'd had were gone, leaving the suddenly not cramped living space empty beyond South standing in the middle of it. Judging by the guarded expression on her face, she had been waiting for a while for him to come back.

"I told North that you'd left already, so he wouldn't have any reason to wait." South informed the younger teen without preamble, "Figured that would be for the best."

"Wh—wha…?"

But, South cut the redhead off with a wave of her hand, "Listen, we have been wanting to leave and head west for a while now, but we both knew you wouldn't survive out there. You've been holding us back."

Simmons stared dumbfounded, knowing what she was saying was probably true but really unsure of how to respond to her declaration.

"North just didn't have the guts to tell you, so it's up to me to be the bad guy. _Again_." There was a bitterness to her voice that suggested this wasn't the first time she had felt this way, "That's that, I guess." She moved to walk past him, "Sorry, Simmons, but I have to look out for the two of us first. We're family."

As she reached the open door, South turned and regarded him for a moment, her expression cold yet unreadable beneath pale blond hair streaked violet. Suddenly, she was pressing credits into Simmons' free hand. He was dimly aware that it was probably the money she had been planning on paying her brother regarding the bet.

"Head east to avoid the really heavy fighting." South advised him as any hint of sentimentality appeared to vanish with that one final gesture on her part.

Then, just like that, she was gone.

In that moment, the redhead realized that the twins hadn't really seen him as family after all. He couldn't blame them for it either. It was natural. It made sense. North and South had always had each other. They were each other's family. That was the way it had always been for the two of them.

There was no doubt that South was on her way to meet her brother, just as there was no doubt that North already thought that Simmons had left them all on his own. So, there wasn't anything holding the twins back from their dream now—whatever the hell it had been. The lanky boy realized that he didn't even know what it was that the twins wanted to do. He had never thought to ask and now he'd never know.

Simmons was fifteen. He was alone again. It took him a really long while before he finally left the empty apartment as well.

* * *

With not much else to go on, Simmons took South's last piece of advice and headed east.

It was in a town called Blood Gulch that Simmons met an eccentric soldier in red armor named Sarge. The redhead ended up joining the older man's crew of misfits, people who had banded together because they had nowhere else to go.

Their meeting had been actually in the middle of a fire fight. Simmons had ducked behind some crates, cursing himself for having dozed off in what apparently had been a military zone. Not that the whole fucking planet wasn't technically one, but still! His luck seemed to suck majorly hard.

If he was being honest with himself, Simmons had been fairly certain he was going to die right then and there. That is, until he heard…

"Yee-haw! Eat lead, dirtbags!"

The freckled teen hadn't been expecting to be saved by a shotgun-wielding man, nor had he been expecting said soldier to take one look at Simmons' scrawny form and tell him to follow him.

But, that was the way things had played out. Truthfully, Simmons was glad for it as the mismatched group Sarge had assembled was truly the closest thing he had ever had to a family. It had taken a long time, but it felt like Simmons had found a group he truly fit in with.

Doc and Donut were both cheerful-if-odd company to have around, and the robot Lopez was dependable even though he didn't say much that Simmons could actually understand. Tucker took some getting used to, but even Simmons had to laugh at some of his antics.

Over time, their close knit family unit grew with the inclusion of Church, Sheila, and Caboose. Carolina and Tex came later, as did Washington—along with the surprising addition of Tucker's infant son, Junior. The three former Freelancers in particular were intimidating as all fuck, but Simmons learned a lot from them too.

The redhead became a soldier and was never once left behind again. On occasion, he was even the one to wait for the others to return. But, even when their group separated on occasion, they always seemed to find one another again.

At age twenty-two, Simmons is happy and content. It is the first time in his life he can truly recall ever being so.

* * *

The door to his bedroom at the base was closed, which was odd to Simmons since he was fairly certain he had left it open when he had gone on patrol that morning.

He frowned, vaguely remembering how Sarge and Tucker had both mentioned that some new additions would be joining their ranks today. Genetically engineered ones, if he recalled the earlier conversation correctly, though he didn't know from which genetic category they fell into.

Honestly? All that really mattered to him was that they might be in his room at that very moment, so he had best introduce himself and nip any bedroom-stealing plans in the bud then and there!

Simmons swallowed nervously and opened the door, mouth open to let out a lecture about proper manners to whoever their new recruits might be.

…He really wasn't expecting to see a chubby, tan skinned young man only a few years older than himself from the looks of things standing in the middle of his room.

The man's dark eyes regarded Simmons defiantly as he protectively held the hand of a little girl who, on closer inspection, resembled him a lot.

Simmons is twenty-three-years-old when he is first introduced to Dexter Grif.

The first impression could have gone better, especially since Grif called the redhead a " _nerd"_ a second after their meeting with a smirk on his face.

As Simmons indignantly stutters out a " _fat-ass"_ in response, he isn't quite sure why his breath catches in his throat.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** My second prequel attempt for "The opposite of war is…", this time delving more into Simmons' past. It was definitely interesting writing him as a younger character than he is in the main story _When We Were Soldiers_ , so I hope I did his journey throughout this piece justice! I experimented a bit with my writing style for this one, so I apologize if it is at all off or bizarre to read in any way.

This is the first of a collection of prequels about the characters before they arrive (or just start arriving) at Chorus. I'll be calling this collection _Prelude for Losers?_ I also have plans for two other prequel stories not connected to this collection in any way later on as well detailing the "time in the shade" and the cyborg surgery story events that I so often allude to in _WWWS_.

I can't promise that the _Prelude for Losers?_ updates are going to be on any sort of a schedule, but I can tell you that whenever I'm able to post the next story for this collection, it is going to be from Doc's perspective. Then the stories will go from there for different characters! :)

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D


	18. Chapter 16

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Sixteen:

The ruins that the Chorus reclaiming mission party were currently investigating were located on the outskirts of the "dead zone," just beyond a ridge of ill-shapen trees and other shrubbery that was in the process of growing back malformed from the constant fighting the area had seen in years past.

All things considered, it wasn't too much of a surprise that they had missed these particular ruins. Though these ancient alien ruins were fairly large compared to the spots that they usually scavenged, the alloy that made up the main building blended into the surrounding foliage's color. That wasn't helped by the fact that the vegetation there was quickly growing up to swallow the ruins.

The reclaiming mission party were at the ruins' front entrance, the door having been opened earlier thanks to Lavernius Tucker's sword.

Currently, it was just Tucker, Washington, Grif, Caboose, and Doyle there exploring the actual ruins. Any second now, their group would probably hear an all-clear over the radio that signaled that they could begin exploring the ruins proper.

The lieutenants, along with the mercenaries, had been sent out to patrol the area and guard the perimeter. Personally, Tucker was glad for it as he was still a bit uneasy around Felix due to the mercenary's earlier interest in Junior.

Tucker bounced slightly on the soles of his feet, _more_ than ready to get this part of the mission underway.

Beside him, David Washington glanced around the forested area with his gun at the ready, "It's too quiet." He murmured.

Tucker looked at the blond askance, "Dude, you did _not_ just say that."

Wash stared at the younger man curiously, "Say what?"

"That! About it being _too_ quiet!" Tucker exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for added emphasis, "Doing that just means _something_ is going to happen!"

"How? By what logic are you basing that off of?" The former Freelancer seemed to have trouble following Tucker's line of reasoning.

"Uh, the logic of watching movies? Duh." Tucker sighed exasperatedly, "Though I would have given you bonus points for _'You three stewardesses look hot.'_ instead."

Wash couldn't help but sigh in exasperation at Tucker's porn viewing tendencies, "Tucker…"

It was then that a polite cough could be heard behind them. Both men turned to find Donald Doyle and Dexter Grif still standing there. Grif was in his usual _"could care less"_ posture, but Doyle was fidgeting nervously.

"So sorry to intrude, gentlemen," the co-leader of Chorus began, "But we seem to have a situation on our hands."

"Or a non-one, depending on how you want to view it." Grif stated, clearly indicating that he thought Doyle might be overreacting to whatever had happened.

"Eh, it's fine, General." Tucker shrugged off Doyle's worry about the interruption as if it was no big deal (and it wasn't. Not really, at any rate. Tucker could talk about porn all day if given the chance), "What's up?"

"Yes, well, I'm afraid we appear to be missing someone."

At that remark, Tucker and Wash both looked around. The lieutenants and mercenaries weren't expected to be back from their patrols for another few minutes, which meant…

"Where the fuck is Caboose?" Tucker exclaimed as the realization on who was missing hit him full force. Of all the times for the blond to wander off!

Grif shrugged apathetically before answering Tucker, "He's a Blue, which means he's your problem."

"Since _when_ , dipshit?"

Grif sighed and shook his head as though the answer to that should be obvious, "Um, since practically forever? That's how these things work!"

Wash stepped in before Tucker could attempt strangling his orange-armored scavenging teammate, "With all of us out here, there's only one place he could go."

Tucker followed Wash's gray-eyed pointed look towards the temple, "Oh, fuckberries." He muttered under his breath, "Let's just find him before he somehow blows something up. _Again_."

Hurrying through the entrance, the small group found that the inside of the temple was similar to the other alien structures they'd discovered in Chorus before, only bigger. Which, from Tucker's viewpoint, basically meant a whole lot of nothing on an impressive scale.

They walked down an empty corridor that led slightly underground due to a descending incline. Sure enough, by a table that only had one small artifact on it, they found Caboose with his back turned towards them.

"Caboose!" Tucker chided his younger teammate when he got close enough, "What have I told you about wandering off?"

"Oh, look, my friends are here! So is Tucker." Caboose ignored Tucker for the moment to continue whatever jerkass conversation he was having, "You'll like them."

Hold up… _conversation_? _That_ realization gave Tucker pause. Who the fuck was the genetically engineered man talking to?

True, Caboose often conversed with Freckles while out on the field, but the gun V.I. already _knew_ all of them. So, who else was Caboose possibly talking to? Had his teammate gone and made invisible friends again?

"Greetings."

The answer as to who Caboose was talking to came a moment later when a small red hologram of what appeared to be an alien suddenly materialized next to the table, right in front of the stunned onlookers.

"His name is Santa." Caboose said in way of explanation, "Because he came with a gift!"

He motioned to the artifact on the table that, out of the corner of Tucker's eye, seemed sort of familiar. But Doyle was already reaching for the item to inspect it, so Tucker left it alone. Plus, there was an alien A.I. in their midst that probably deserved more attention at the moment.

"You…you found an A.I.?" Wash asked Caboose incredulously, eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Well, kind of? He showed up first to say hello." Caboose explained, "He is very polite."

"Caboose, what the—!" But there was a loud explosion at the temple's entrance that cut Tucker's question off, "What the fuck?"

Instantly, the members of their group were all running _back_ to the temple entrance. Tucker was hoping to find the rest of the reclaiming mission party there, only to discover several of those Insurrection assholes blocking their only way out. Figured their luck would be that shitty.

"Been a long time coming, Freelancer." One guy with a shark face painted on his helmet remarked to Washington in particular, "Hope you're ready to burn."

Tucker groaned, "Why can't any of the people you Freelancers know _not_ be total assholes?"

Wash could only shrug apologetically at his comment. Tucker could almost picture the sheepish sort of smile crossing over his features just then.

Something about Sharkface's voice just then caused Grif to visibly stiffen behind them, "Terrence?" he asked, voice barely above a shocked whisper.

Sharkface turned to the chubby soldier while letting out a sharp burst of unpleasant laughter, "It looks like Dexter Grif's here too." He remarked, "It sure is a small fucking world, huh?"

* * *

Richard "Dick" Simmons entered the clinic. He immediately realized his mistake for not having knocked or somehow announced his presence first, as what Sarge and Doctor Emily Grey were in the midst of doing on the operating table was decidedly _not_ sterile.

His eyes somehow focused in on Sarge's hand buried deep in Doctor Grey's dark head of hair, their lips barely a centimeter apart.

Simmons _meant_ to just back out of the space and give them the privacy they obviously so desperately needed, but his body had other plans. Instead, he let out a tiny, undignified squeak. The noise was apparently enough to pull the two apart, though they regarded one another for a moment more with eyes that were still very much hooded over with lust.

"'Til later, darlin'." Sarge remarked with a huskier voice than Simmons _ever_ wanted to hear from his C.O. again.

The older soldier made his way to the clinic's doorway, turning and patting Simmons on the shoulder in a comforting manner, "Whatever she tells you, you listen. Ya hear?" Sarge told him.

The cyborg nodded shakily, having a sense that both Sarge and Doctor Grey already knew why he was there, "Of—of course, sir!"

"Good man, Simmons." With that, Sarge was gone.

Doctor Grey, meanwhile, had slid back off the table and was currently rearranging her purple blouse, humming contentedly to herself as she did so. Simmons looked away then, his freckled face a bright red.

"So, Simmons, what brings you here?" The doctor asked in her way too cheery voice.

Simmons opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly his entire body went weak. His vision blacked out and he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. He probably _would_ have, had Doctor Grey not raced forward and grabbed onto him to steady his body just then. He nodded to her in thanks as the dark skinned woman guided him over to one of the clinic's beds.

"So, they're still occurring?" Grey asked, voice completely serious.

He nodded, "With every power outage." Simmons admitted, "They aren't as bad as before though."

"But the fact that they're still happening at all is cause for concern." Doctor Grey finished for him.

Simmons said nothing, nodding his red head of hair instead.

She let out a tired sigh, "It's the same for Church and the V.I.s as well. We're working on trying to find a solution as quickly as we can."

"Thanks, Doctor Grey."

She smiled and gave his shoulder a light squeeze, "Don't mention it. Why don't you rest here for a bit and I'll go talk to Sarge about what other possible tests to run."

Once more he nodded, feeling oddly run down and tired all of a sudden. As Doctor Grey left the clinic, Simmons' mind went to the scavenging mission that was taking place right now.

He could only hope that Grif and the others were doing okay.

* * *

The closer to the ruins they got, the louder the sounds of a skirmish became. The mercenaries should have met up with the rookies earlier during their patrol. Antoine Bitters frowned, wondering where they were as the lieutenants were just now coming into view of the temple area

As was to be expected giving the telltale sounds of fighting they had heard, things were not looking too great at the ruins.

Bitters instinctively reached out and grabbed Matthews' arm, preventing the auburn-haired man from getting any closer to the red camouflage-wearing Insurrection members that had somehow gotten past not only them, but the mercenaries as well. The Insurrection had even managed to pin down Captain Grif and the others.

The other lieutenants stopped in their tracks as well. With the motion, Bitters risked a glance at the surprised Matthews. His hand was still gripping the rookie's upper arm despite Bitters' mind telling him that he should probably be letting go now.

Andersmith motioned to the trees a few paces away, everyone nodding as they carefully made their way over to the cover they provided. Another mutual nod a second later, and they were moving forward—closer to the ruins and the inherent danger that awaited them there. Thankfully, the gunshots and yelling quite nicely muffled their approach through the twisted shrubbery.

It seemed that Washington and the others were getting pinned down right at the ruins' entrance by Insurrection bullets. Given the circumstances, they were holding their own rather admirably, but that would probably change in a matter of seconds.

As soon as Bitters had mentally made that observation, there was a burst of flame near the ruins. Holy shit! Did someone in the Insurrection have a goddamned _flamethrower_ on them?

"If we could just fucking distract them." Bitters said to no one in particular, although he was sure some in their group probably believed it directed towards them.

A distraction would be just enough to get the senior soldiers out of the ruins' entrance, but it would also probably put targets on all of their backs as well. Subconsciously, his grip on Matthews' arm tightened just a fraction at the thought.

"Leave it to me!" Before he could even begin to process what she had just said, Kaikaina Grif strode forward with an authoritative air about her, "Hey, assholes!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, "Quit trying to light a fire under my big bro's ass. It doesn't fucking work!"

Volleyball raced up to Kai then, shouting something Bitters couldn't decipher while firing her gun at the stunned Insurrection members. Jensen and Palomo both glanced at one another and shrugged before following suit, joined a moment later by Andersmith.

 _Fuck it._ When everyone you knew was acting recklessly, you might as well too. Such bullshit.

Bitters sighed, finally dropping Matthews' arm to join the fray as well. He noticed a second later out of the corner of his eyes that the yellow-trimmed lieutenant had joined him in the fight.

The distraction was more than enough to provide the older soldiers with the cover fire they needed to escape from the entrance. They broke through the Insurrection ranks just as the mercenaries, led by Felix and Locus, joined the party.

"'Bout time you assholes showed up." Bitters couldn't help muttering under his breath, though Felix still heard it.

"What was that, kiddo?" The steel-and-orange armored mercenary asked him mockingly, "We were a little busy dealing with even more of these assholes on our way back here."

Bitters supposed that made sense, though he couldn't help frowning at the explanation all the same. After all, the lieutenants hadn't run into anyone and they had been exploring the perimeter too.

"This won't be over until Chorus burns!" The man with the flamethrower, evidently the leader of this group of Insurrectionists, signaled to his group to retreat for the moment given the sudden odds they were facing—though not before shooting Agent Washington and Captain Grif what appeared to be significant looks even with a shark helmet on.

"Seriously." Captain Tucker sighed as they left, "Every single Freelancer-adjacent guy we meet is an asshole."

"Umm…" Palomo pointed over to a red hologram floating over Captain Caboose's shoulder, "Is it just me or is that little dude kind of strange-looking?"

Bitters started at the sight, along with everyone else who had yet to be introduced to the figure.

Was that seriously an alien A.I.? It sure as fuck looked like one.

"We can talk about him more once we get back to Chorus." Washington was quick to take charge now that they were in recovery mode.

"Quite right. I feel there are a few things that we will need to have some earnest discussions about." Doyle spoke up from behind the former Freelancer.

It was in that moment, as the older blond spoke, that Bitters became aware of the glowing sword in the Chorus co-leader's hand that looked an awful lot like Captain Tucker's alien relic. …Which was currently active in the teal-armored man's hand, a reminder of the battle they had all narrowly escaped from.

Bitters could feel a headache looming on as his poor brain tried to process all of the sudden sensory information it was receiving.

* * *

Vanessa Kimball was surprised to see Carolina standing by the Chorus entrance gate well before the time when the reclaiming mission team was supposed to get back.

"Couldn't wait any longer for news, I take it?" The dark skinned woman asked in friendly greeting, joining the former Freelancer where she stood tapping her foot impatiently.

"No," the redhead admitted with a forceful sigh, glancing over at Kimball, "You?"

Kimball let out a sigh of her own, "With all of the recent events happening here, I felt a bit anxious."

She did not want to admit that a large part of her anxiety was due to Doyle's decision to go with the others on this particular mission as well. No. It was definitely best for that reason to remain safely with her.

"That's understandable." Carolina informed the Chorus co-leader, the two women remaining in companionable silence for a while following their greetings.

Kimball was just about to give up on pointlessly waiting and suggest to her friend that they get a meal over at Cass' instead when one of the guards at the gate raced towards them.

"The reclaiming team's back early, ma'am!" The guard informed Kimball after a hasty salute, "It looks like they've been attacked!"

" _What_?" Both Kimball and Carolina exclaimed at the same time, glancing at one another before racing to the opening gate.

Sure enough, the group standing before them looked more than a little worse for wear. Though, thankfully, any injuries they might have sustained seemed rather minor.

No, what _really_ drew Kimball's attention after assessing everyone's health was the alien A.I. that was floating above Caboose's head. That was before her dark eyes drifted over to the other leader of Chorus. Was that an alien _sword_ clipped to Doyle's side?

Carolina voiced what Kimball was thinking in a succinct manner, "What the hell happened to you all?"

* * *

While the others were busy talking about the Insurrection, glowing swords, and gift-giving alien A.I.s, Dexter Grif snuck away.

The chubby man had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be asked for his own perspective on the situation later. He sighed, not really knowing how helpful that would be in the long run anyways.

Terrence was alive and still with the same group of assholes that had caused Grif to leave his big brother figure in the first place. That was pretty much it, really. He hadn't expected the guy to have an obsessed viewpoint when it came to Freelancers or anything like that. Terrence had been relatively normal back when Grif had known him as a teenager.

Still, seeing his childhood friend again had shocked Grif. He should probably tell Cass. He wondered how she would take it considering how close she had been to Terrance. In a way, he was rather glad that Kai hadn't recognized Terrance when they were fighting at the temple. She had always liked him.

Though, thanks to his big brother instincts, Grif had wanted to throttle the girl for the stunt she had pulled back at the ruins even though it had served as a decent distraction.

But, right now? Well, truthfully, all he wanted to do…no, scratch that. All his lazy ass _needed_ was just to see Simmons. Seeing the nerd always helped to calm Grif down when he was feeling stressed.

He found Simmons in the hallway outside the clinic. The location alone was alarmingly enough on its own. It was made even more so when there was a flicker of lights overhead and he saw Simmons stumble.

More alarm than he'd care to admit flashed through his system at the sight of the redhead hitting the ground and then trying to get up again as if the effort was difficult.

"S—Simmons?" Grif was at his side in an instant, guiding the cyborg back into the clinic and over to one of the beds there before the weakened redhead could protest.

"Oh, h—hey, Grif." Simmons looked decidedly sheepish, as if he was trying to figure a way out of the precarious situation he had just stumbled into, "How'd…the mission go?"

"Nice try, kiss-ass." Grif wasn't going to let the asshole off the hook so easily, "How long has _this_ been happening?"

Simmons glanced down at the bed, biting his lip, "Whenever…whenever the power fluctuations occur."

Grif closed his eyes in frustration and inwardly counted to ten, "And you didn't tell me because…?"

Simmons sighed, "I didn't want you to worry."

"Yeah? Well not telling me makes me worry even more!" Grif shouted back, "Geez, Simmons, you're supposed to be the fucking smart one!"

There was a stunned silence following his outburst and both men's faces became decidedly hot.

Simmons coughed awkwardly, looking about ready to retreat inside himself, "I'm…I'm sorry, Grif."

Grif sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, "Let's just forget it, okay?" He asked, motioning to the chair that was by the bed, "You want some company?"

His voice made it apparent that he felt that Simmons should rest for a while given what had just happened. Before Simmons could even reply to his question, Grif had already lazily plopped down in the chair next to the bed.

"Sure." Simmons smiled, apparently relieved at Grif's offer to stay.

For a moment, the two settled into their usual comfortable silence. Grif would have preferred it stay that way for a little while longer out of laziness, but he knew that even an exhausted Simmons' curiosity would inevitably get the better of him.

"How'd the mission go?" Simmons asked conversationally a few seconds later.

Grif shrugged lazily while trying to hold back his smirk at how predictable his nerd was, "Oh, you know, pretty routine. Caboose befriended an alien A.I., Doyle now has a matching sword to Tucker's, and one of my old friends is the leader of the Insurrection."

"Yeah, yeah…" Simmons nodded his head until Grif's words actually sunk in, "Wait, _what_?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Well, some more character introductions and reveals were had! Yes, for those wondering, I will eventually be going into more details on Sharkface's connection to Grif in the _Prelude for Losers?_ prequel stories. :) This was a fun chapter to write for a whole variety of different reasons, so I hope that you enjoyed it too!

Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this! :D


	19. Chapter 17

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Seventeen:

Richard "Dick" Simmons was currently out jogging through the streets of Chorus. He hadn't been able to do one of his favorite pastimes for a while on account of the increase of foot and vehicular traffic thanks to the mercenaries and Hargrove's men, but things had finally gotten into a normal enough routine where he could again.

Truthfully, the redhead was grateful for the opportunity to go for a solo run, as being on his own for a little while helped him to put things into perspective. As such, jogging at the moment was the best way for Simmons to inwardly process the influx of information from the last couple of days.

The alien Artificial Intelligence known as Santa had been shocking enough. Then there was the fact that _Donald Doyle_ of all people received an energy sword like Tucker's. Not to mention finding out about Grif's past connections to the Insurrection, the group that was currently threatening their home…

Well, to be fair, Simmons had already known about some of that already. It wasn't as if any of the Reds or Blues had been quiet about their pasts on purpose. Knowing that the past wasn't a topic that Grif particularly enjoyed talking about, Simmons never pressed him on it even when there had been chances aplenty to do so.

The cyborg could relate to the chubby man's hesitancy to go in-depth on his personal history, honestly. Besides, it wasn't like someone from the cyborg's own past hadn't entered into the fray recently too, so he wasn't one to judge.

He had already told Grif years ago that if he needed to talk to him about _anything_ , the orange-armored soldier could do so. Back then, Grif had smiled gratefully in a way that had made Simmons' heart ache and told him thanks.

So, that was where they stood currently on the subject of their pasts. It was the same place they had stood for years on the subject: with the door always open should the need arise. Simmons supposed he had to be content with that for now, as he had been for a long while.

Simmons looked around the jogging route, trying to gauge the distance he had traveled so far. At the moment, he was close by the warehouse, heading back towards the apartments.

Naturally, that's when _it_ happened. Yet again.

The lights on the street, just beginning to turn on as the later afternoon hours rolled by, flickered. He didn't even have time to curse at the events that followed before finding himself face first on the ground.

Shit, would he have loved to curse because that fucking _hurt_. Tears were already starting to well up in his human eye. At least no one had been around to see him fall, so the pale-skinned man's pride wasn't too hurt as he struggled to pull himself up with lagging, unresponsive limbs.

" _Ow, my head!"_ Simmons muttered to himself, although he wasn't sure if he said the words out loud or not.

"Are you all right?"

Simmons froze at the recently oddly familiar voice that spoke just then, especially since he had heard it on what he had been fairly certain was an empty street. Finally on his knees, the cyborg glanced upwards to see a floating red figure in the air.

He had heard right. The voice had belonged to the alien Artificial Intelligence, Santa. When the A.I. wasn't hanging around Caboose and Freckles, he could be seen throughout Chorus.

It figured Santa would catch Simmons' latest pitfall. He could feel his face burning in embarrassment.

"I—I'm fine." He managed to choke out, again trying to lift his body off the road with minimal success, "Just a…backlash."

"To the power outages that have been plaguing this city, correct?" Santa asked, seemingly genuinely curious at what the human was referring to.

Simmons nodded in response, _finally_ getting his body in tow and pulling himself fully up off the ground.

"The Virtual Intelligence that Caboose calls Freckles has them as well." The tiny hologram informed Simmons, glancing over at the redhead, "Though his backlashes, as you call them, are different from yours."

"Probably because he's a full V.I. while I am a cyborg." Simmons stated, feeling a bit odd talking about the situation so rationally even though he knew that Santa's observation was correct. Simmons hated how much more unresponsive and pained his body got with each new one.

Both he and Church reacted to the power outages differently from the Virtual Intelligences, although they were all directly impacted by them all the same. After all, the outages were still occurring despite the efforts of both Chorus and Hargrove's men to stop them.

"I see. Yes, that would make the most logical sense." Santa nodded his head in agreement.

Now that he thought about it, seeing Santa floating there gave Simmons pause. It seemed as if the newcomer wasn't experiencing any of the effects that he and the others were.

"Hey, Santa," he began, trying his best to be as conversational as possible to an alien tech that was who-knows how old in reality, "Why aren't you being affected by the power outages? You _are_ an A.I., aren't you?"

"That is correct, though I am a far bit different from your own Artificial Intelligences." Santa looked as thoughtful as an alien hologram could get as he considered Simmons' question, "I suppose whatever is attacking the networks of this city is specifically designed for human technology."

"So something of your caliber wouldn't be affected." Simmons concluded, feeling a bit jealous and a little bit insecure. Damn it! He couldn't even be on par with ancient alien technology!

Santa inclined his head slightly to indicate a nod, seemingly content with no more conversation. Deciding it would be best to get out of the street, Simmons couldn't hide the wince he made as he turned towards the direction of the warehouse.

"Are you sure that you're all right?" Santa inquired after him, "Should I call for assistance?"

Simmons shook his head at the politely worded offer, "No need. I'm heading straight to the warehouse and clinic."

"I see. A rational choice." Santa began flickering out of sight, no doubt to explore some more of the human settlement that he found so fascinating, "Good day, then."

Just like that, Simmons was on his own once more. He sighed, making his way over to the warehouse. A small bundle of teal raced over to the redhead to collide with his already shaky knees once the large building's double doors opened to admit him.

"Whoa there!" Simmons couldn't help but smile at Junior's affectionate tackle despite how it nearly put him on the ground again, returning the hug awkwardly, "How's it going, Junior?"

Junior looked up at the maroon-wearing adult, a knowing look in his blue eyes and a frown growing on his face. No doubt the boy was well-aware that another power outage had occurred.

"Hey now," Simmons gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze, "Everything's okay, Junior."

A doubtful look still lingered on the boy's features, but seeing Simmons try to encourage him caused Junior to smile all the same. Slowly, he disentangled himself from around the cyborg's legs.

"Hello, Simmons." Sheila spoke up not a second later, obviously having watched the exchange between himself and Tucker's child.

The cyborg turned to the side to see both Sheila and Lopez standing in the doorway. Her tone was as cordial as ever, but he caught on to the undercurrent of worry in it all the same. The fact that Lopez's arm was draped over her shoulders reassuringly was not lost on him.

"Hey, Sheila. Hey, Lopez." He greeted, swallowing nervously.

"Bueno. Ya que estás aquí, puede hacerse cargo de niñera por un rato." _{"Good. Since you're here, you can take over babysitting for a little while."}_

He wasn't sure what Lopez had said, but the brown-armored robot sounded rather lethargic. Or, at least as lethargic-sounding as an electronically-voiced robot could get. Knowing that the power outages basically forced the two Virtual Intelligences to boot back up, as well as the strain that put on their systems, he figured maybe taking over Junior-watching duties would be a nice gesture on his part.

"You missed the others, I'm afraid." Sheila informed him, "They went out a while ago."

Simmons sighed in relief. He had been hoping that was the case. He didn't know if his anxious nerves could have handled a lot of people being in the warehouse at the moment.

With all that had happened, he had almost forgotten that Grif and the others had another scavenging mission earlier today. There was no doubt that Carolina would want to see how it had gone personally by greeting the returning scavengers. Some of the others would probably tag along to just get out of the warehouse for a bit.

Truthfully, Simmons had been avoiding Grif a bit due to knowing that the genetically engineered man was probably getting close to his time for "release" again.

"That's fine. I just came here because…" The redhead's voice trailed off when he saw Lopez's arm tighten protectively around Sheila. No need to mention what they were all already aware of.

"Estos cortes son un dolor en el culo." _{"These outages are a pain in the ass."}_

Sheila nodded her head in agreement to whatever it was that Lopez had said just then before turning back to face Simmons. "This time it took a bit longer to get back online." She informed the cyborg, looking regretfully at Junior, "We must have scared him terribly."

Junior's eyes widened, and the boy vehemently shook his head before racing over to the two robots and hugging both of them in reassurance. Sheila patted his shoulder fondly and even Lopez ruffled his black head of hair gently, the two robots silently looking at one another with a whole lot of meaning as they did so.

"I think Junior wants you both to know he's more concerned for you." Simmons muttered, Junior smiling and nodding his head in agreement.

Sheila's tone was touched as she stated, "Thank you, Junior."

"Buen niño." _{"Good kid."}_

Sheila turned to Simmons again then, "Perhaps you should rest in the clinic for a moment until we are certain another outage isn't in the works?" She suggested, sounding concerned.

The lanky man nodded, the pain in his skull having not quite vanished, "That sounds like a good idea, actually."

At those words, Junior raced back to Simmons' side to grab his hand tightly.

Simmons couldn't help but smile at the gesture, "Are you still worried?" he asked.

The boy nodded slightly, a frown on his face again.

Simmons squeezed Junior's hand reassuringly, "So am I, but hopefully we have no reason to be." He told the child despite the pain still flaring in his skull.

* * *

The slow, trudging pace by which they were heading back to Chorus did not, in Lavernius Tucker's oh-so-very-humble opinion, help the mood any.

Not that he could blame anyone on the scavenging mission for not feeling like celebrating just then. After all, they had stumbled upon yet _another_ reclamation site only to find it picked clean before they had even arrived—a scorch mark on the ground to let them know who exactly had beat them to the punch.

Seriously, this was like…what? The sixth fucking time this week? It was enough to get anyone down in the dumps, particularly since they _needed_ the materials from these runs now more than ever. The ongoing repairs to Chorus weren't going to fix themselves, although it'd be pretty fucking sweet if they did.

Tucker must have groaned out loud because Washington, who had been walking right beside the teal-armored soldier without him having realized it for quite some time, cast a gray-eyed glance in his direction.

"It looks as though they have switched their strategy to beating us to the punch." The former Freelancer said plainly while stating the obvious.

Tucker rolled his eyes, "Gee, you think?" He muttered under his breath.

Wash ignored him, "In a way, it's a sound strategy…"

"Cut off the enemy's supply line, and they will be less of a threat to you."

Tucker couldn't help but shudder slightly at the garbled, electronic voice of Locus cutting into what he thought had been a private conversation. He had honestly almost forgotten that the mercenary was there, which was alarming considering that Locus' large figure tended to be intimidating even when he was just standing silently.

Washington sighed, "Exactly." He agreed with Locus' assessment of what was occurring, no doubt about to say the same thing before the steel and green-armored mercenary had cut in.

"So we just have to figure out a way to beat them to it ourselves." Tucker deduced, hoping to dispel some of the doom and gloom that was hanging around yet another journey home empty-handed.

"That's going to be easier said than done, Tucker." Wash told him, almost gently.

"I know, I know." Tucker gritted his teeth, "But it just pisses me the fuck off that we can't do more."

He glanced around his surroundings to the rest of the scavenging mission party. From nearby, Grif said nothing. To be honest, his friend's mind had been elsewhere since they had started this mission. Tucker knew he was probably getting close to his need for "release" soon.

Plus, being reminded of how an old friend of his was currently fucking over any chance they had to help Simmons and the others probably wasn't helping matters. That, and the heavy labored breathing indicated that the fat-ass was walking too much to be able to talk at the same time without passing out.

Caboose was also surprisingly quiet, but Tucker chalked that up to him having picked up on the general mood of the group. He noticed that his blond blue-armored teammate was clutching onto Freckles tighter than usual.

Behind them all, the lieutenants trudged along at a slow pace. This most recent failure was having an exceptionally disheartening effect on the rookies. Not that Tucker could blame them. After all, all of them had joined the army specifically to help protect Chorus.

"Tucker's right." Felix noted, letting out a sigh of his own, "It's really fucking frustrating that we haven't been able to get the resources needed to help speed up repairs."

Tucker glanced over at the mercenary, surprised at the sincerity in his voice just then. He was still a little uneasy around Felix due to his questions regarding his son before, but maybe he had been overreacting to things like an overprotective parent?

"It _especially_ sucks that we haven't found any more cool alien swag like those swords either." The orange and steel-armored mercenary noted disappointedly, vanishing Tucker's doubts.

Obviously, he had been giving Felix too much credit there. Momentary illusion shattered, Tucker rolled his eyes and glanced back at the lieutenants.

Matthews and Bitters were practically walking shoulder to shoulder, though they were so downcast that they probably didn't even realize they were doing so. Jensen and Palomo were discussing something quietly together, shoulders sagged in lingering disappointment. Andersmith and Volleyball were both looking off into the "dead zone," but he could tell their hearts weren't into it.

The sight of everyone so forlorn made him lament the fact that Kai was training with Bones again. The younger Grif sibling always knew how to be the mood maker for a crowd.

"They're really down, huh?" Tucker whispered over to Washington, leaning in close so that the Freelancer could hear him.

Since their helmets were on, he didn't see the blush that appeared on Wash's face at his sudden proximity.

The older man covered up his sudden flush by glancing over at the lieutenants as he nodded in response, "I think some extra training when we get back should help take their minds off of things."

Tucker frowned, "Damn. You really don't take a fucking break. Are you sure you aren't pushing them too hard?"

Wash turned his gaze to Tucker then, "The extra training's for you too."

"What? Why only me?" Tucker glanced over at his two Red and Blue scavenging teammates, neither of whom seemed to be paying the conversation any attention in the slightest.

"Because you are frustrated by what's been happening as well and need a diversion." The blond noted, "Grif doesn't appear to be feeling well, so he'd just skip it anyways and Caboose would just distract the lieutenants."

Tucker frowned, not really able to argue with that sound of logic.

"Besides, you working alongside them would be a great morale boost."

Again, Wash's logic was fucking foolproof. Tucker was fucking amazing like that.

So, Tucker did the only thing he could do then and rubbed the back of his helmet in a resigned fashion, "Aw, fuckberries."

Nearby, Felix whistled lowly in amusement, "Glad it wasn't me."

* * *

The unlikely retinue of Carolina, Church, Doc, and Donut were waiting for the scavenging mission party at the gate by the time they arrived back in Chorus.

One look at how even _more_ haggard-looking than normal Church appeared to be said all that Dexter Grif needed to know about what had most likely happened while they were away. Regardless, he glanced at the Freelancer in cyan questioningly since he figured she wouldn't waste time with pleasantries.

Carolina nodded briskly, "There was another power outage." She explained.

Grif felt his stomach drop as his mind went immediately to _Simmons_ and then the others. The news had an already disappointed group coming back emptyhanded even more crestfallen.

"Oh, no!"

It was _Caboose_ of all people who reacted first, racing over to where Church stood and enveloping the dark-haired cyborg in a suffocating bear hug, "Church! Church, are you all right?"

Church coughed and groaned, "I _was_ —until you squeezed the fucking life out of me." He mumbled, though he awkwardly patted the younger man's back all the same.

"He should be fine with plenty of rest and orange juice, Caboose." Doc reassured the Blue Team member.

"Okay, then I will go find some!" With that, Caboose ran off in a hurry towards the direction of the entertainment district.

"I'm going to have to drink a gallon of that shit when he comes back, aren't I?" Church asked, sounding both worried and resigned all at once.

Carolina regarded her sibling in amusement, "Most likely." She informed him wryly.

"Aw, fuck it." He glared over at the purple medic, "Thanks for that, Doc."

"You're welcome, Church!" Doc did not seem to pick up on the sarcasm in Church's tone just then, his smile as large as ever.

As amusing as all of this was turning out to be, Grif had a certain red-headed cyborg that he needed to find. He was just about to break his apathetic reputation by heading off to find Simmons, but Wash beat the tan-skinned man to making himself scarce by informing Carolina of what had happened earlier when they had found a whole lot of nothing on their retrieval mission.

"I suspect that they are trying to actively undermine our repairs to Chorus now." Washington concluded, his hands made into frustrating fists at his sides.

The red-haired woman frowned, tapping her foot on the ground impatiently, "It certainly seems that way." She muttered in response.

Grif remembered the scorch marks at each of the recent sites and frowned. To think that Terrence was doing _this_ now. He wondered what had happened to the cheerful, big brother figure that he had last seen before he had met up with the Reds and Blues.

"I would love to investigate them further to figure out their exact motives." Carolina turned her attention to the chubbier man in their midst, "Are you sure you don't know anything else, Grif?" She asked him.

Grif shook his head, "I've already told you everything. That was such a fucking long time ago and—!"

He stopped short as a wave of heat washed over him, causing him to stumble slightly on his feet as his vision blurred. Shit. Not now…!

"Are you all right?" Carolina asked, gripping Grif's arm in a death-like vice to keep him from crashing to the ground.

Weirdly, the "tingle" that usually came with someone else's physical touch wasn't there. He frowned, having noticed that lack of a reaction recently. It was odd, but he had other things on his mind. Maybe he'd get it checked out later, if he wasn't being his usual lazy self.

"I'm fine." Grif managed to get out through gritted teeth, face turning slightly red, "I'm just getting close to my time, I guess."

"Oh." Carolina seemed nonplussed by the admission, but she and Washington had no doubt encountered all sorts of genetically engineered humans on their top secret military exercises, "You should get that situation under control as quickly as possible."

He ignored the " _Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow!_ " that he heard from Tucker just then, accompanied by an exclamation of pain as Wash elbowed the teal-wearing man for good measure.

"I know." Grif remarked, though he knew that would be easier said than done with how "on the fritz" his sense of touch seemed to be right now. Around this time, he should be super-sensitive but recently that wasn't really the case right now. He shook his head again, "If you want to ask someone else about the Insurrection from back then, I'd try Cass."

"Oh, I could talk to her about it, ma'am!" Andersmith eagerly volunteered, much to the snickering of the other lieutenants and his own reddening face as he realized how that must have appeared.

"Yeah, I bet you could!" Palomo joked out, getting an elbow to the chest plate from a smiling Jensen a second later.

While everyone was momentarily distracted, Grif excused himself by stealthily sneaking away from the group like a badass maverick. Or, he simply just walked away like a dude who didn't want to bother standing around and talking about work shit anymore. He wasn't able to sneak away entirely unseen, however ( _damn his still being slow and tired from all the walking earlier! Exercise was fucking evil_ ).

Donut, with a way too knowing look in his brown eyes, passed him the repaired plushy as he tried to make his escape. Grif quickly nodded his thanks for the toy and stored it in his armor storage, ignoring the wink the dirty blond gave him and the secretive smile the pink-wearing soldier shared with Doc just then.

The orange-wearing soldier decided to say "Fuck it!" and brush Donut and Doc's gossipy tendencies aside like he did everything else he didn't want to deal with.

After all, Grif had a nerd to check in on.

* * *

After dropping by his apartment to get into some everyday clothes, Grif remembered to put the stuffed doggie that Donut had repaired for him into the container where he kept the others. While doing so, the chubby man figured that finding Simmons would be as easy as heading to where the workaholic nerd could usually be found at this time of day. He didn't even need to check Simmons' time table schedule for it.

So, that's why Grif headed to the familiar, almost comforting sight of the warehouse. It seemed his assumption as to where Simmons was happened to be correct when a polite Sheila and a bored-as-always Lopez directed him to the clinic. The dark-haired man rushed over there and was honestly only surprised to find both Junior and Hargrove sitting next to a resting Simmons.

Though Simmons seemed somewhat embarrassed at being found by Grif yet again in Doctor Grey's clinic of all places, both the redhead and Junior smiled at the orange-wearing man's appearance as Hargrove merely lifted an eyebrow in mild amusement.

Junior dropped the crayons and paper that he had been drawing with to run over to Grif, the larger man ruffling his dark head of hair affectionately, "Hey, little man! You been watching over the nerd for me?" he joked as he did so.

Junior grinned, nodding his head emphatically.

"Your dad should be on his way to collect you soon. Probably with Washington." Grif noted how Junior's eyes, already bright because of Tucker's impending arrival, smiled even more at the mention of the Freelancer.

"Why don't you go and play with Lopez for a bit before he gets here, Junior?" Simmons, clearly noticing that Grif wanted to see if he was okay, asked the boy.

Junior seemed pleased with the idea, grabbing his drawing utensils and papers with a final, reassuring nod to everyone in the room before he disappeared to find his favorite robotic babysitter.

"The two of you are excellent with him." Hargrove commented as Grif walked further into the clinic space, "Are you considering children of your own?"

 _All the fucking time._ But, Grif wasn't about to say that to Hargrove of all people. He had to bite his tongue about the chairman even being here as it was. For some reason, the older man got under his skin in more ways than he could count.

Simmons spluttered at the question, eyes inadvertently going to Grif for some reason that nearly gave the other man a hopeful pause before his face turned a brilliant shade of red that Sarge would have probably paid good money to see.

Finally, because he didn't like Hargrove asking such personal questions in the first place, Grif took pity on Simmons, "I heard there was another power outage." He stated, ignoring Hargrove's question entirely, "You all right, Simmons?"

Simmons looked beyond relieved at the change of subject, nodding his head vigorously, "Y—yes. Doctor Grey looked me over, and I was just about to leave when Chairman Hargrove came by to talk about old times again."

"I see." Grif figured keeping his mouth shut on what he thought about that particular scenario was better for everyone in the long run. Plus, he was too fucking lazy to start a fight right now.

"It is troubling that we haven't been able to put a stop to these power outages yet." Hargrove muttered, a contemplative frown crossing over his weathered features.

"Yeah, well, it probably doesn't help matters that the Insurrection is actively trying to sabotage our attempts now." Grif informed them.

Simmons frowned, "Another bust?" he asked, concerned about what was obviously becoming a recurring trend for all of their resource scavenging missions.

Grif wanted to do anything to stop the worry creeping into the cyborg's voice just then, but couldn't help the apathetic helplessness from his response, "Yeah, it's like they know we're coming before we even get to the site." He sat down in the chair that Junior had been in before.

"Interesting." Hargrove was regarding Grif carefully then, "Don't you have ties to the Insurrection, young man?"

Grif stiffened at the question, eyes narrowing at the unvoiced implication that he had something to do with what was going on with the attacks.

"That was a long time ago." Simmons spoke up, thankfully, in his defense.

"I see." Hargrove stood up then, nodding to both of them, "As pleasant as catching up always is, I'm afraid I must be going now."

"Of course. Take care, Chairman." Simmons told the businessman as he left.

Grif remained stock still and silent until the doors to the clinic closed before taking notice of Simmons regarding him in mild concern.

"Grif?" The cyborg asked when he realized he finally had the chubby man's attention.

"He fucking did that on purpose!" Grif seethed, seeing red in his vision.

Simmons blinked at the suddenly vehement response from the usually laidback man, "What? No, he didn't!"

"Really, Simmons?" Grif looked at him in disbelief, "That seemed like just a casual reference to you?"

"Well," Simmons frowned, looking at the ground, "He was just concerned."

"Of fucking _me_!" Grif shot up from the chair, "Like I'd ever betray anyone here. Like I'd ever hurt _you_!"

"Grif, I know that, but—!" Simmons looked panicked as he started to get out of bed, a pained wince apparent on his face despite his stubborn refusal to acknowledge it.

"But _nothing_ , Simmons! He's a fucking asshole and I—!"

Simmons stumbled just then, cutting Grif off in mid-rant as the genetically engineered man reached out to steady the redhead's shoulders. Suddenly, in the very second that his hands touched Simmons, the "tingle" was there in full-force.

Only this time it was like a lightning strike. There was a sudden hotness racing through his body that Grif had never before felt so acutely.

Grif couldn't help it as his legs turned to jelly. He actually _moaned_ one of the neediest, desperate sounds that had ever escaped his lips.

Suddenly there was silence in the space between them. Simmons was staring at him with eyes as wide and dilated as saucers, even his artificial one even though that didn't seem physically possible. The cyborg's freckled face suddenly looked as hot as Grif's whole body felt just then. When Simmons finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

"G—Grif?"

"I…" Grif's brain wasn't working properly as he dropped Simmons' shoulders as if they burned, "I've gotta…gotta go check on…something."

Then the chubby man left the clinic and the warehouse as well as a dumbfounded and weak-kneed Simmons, both men wondering what the fuck had happened.

* * *

"This sucks." Tex remarked, leaning against the side of the ship and tapping her foot impatiently on the ground of a seedy district known as Rat's Nest.

"Agreed, but so would crashing from the sky." Four Seven Niner told Tex, "Believe me."

In this particular moment, the pilot couldn't help but relate to the Freelancer. She wanted nothing more than for them to be on their way to Chorus too. Of course, that kind of thinking didn't exactly take into account necessary stops that they had to take for shit like refueling their transport.

Truthfully, Niner just wanted to know that _she_ and her friends were okay, even if she wasn't quite sure what exactly she would say to a certain redheaded woman when they did meet up again.

Tex grunted, stepping away from the transport as she spotted a few figures dressed in familiar steel armor meandering about the area.

"Huh. Think they know anything worthwhile?" She called over her shoulder.

The woman in the wheelchair glanced in the direction of the mercenaries disinterestedly before going back to focus on making sure the refueling was going well, "I suppose you could ask them politely and find out."

Hearing the other woman cracking her knuckles, Four Seven Niner didn't even have to turn around to know that Tex was smirking.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** …Things are starting to heat up, and in more ways than one! :D I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. :)

Thank you for taking the time to read it! :D


	20. Prelude for Losers? (2): Doc

_**Prelude for Losers?**_ : **Doc**

 _Find out what happened before the events of_ When We Were Soldiers _in the_ Prelude for Losers? _specials!_

 _In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus._

 _The second story is Doc's._

 _Main Pairing(s): Docnut, Grimmons_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

 _Prelude for Losers?_ — Doc:

Frank "Doc" DuFresne had his nose to the grindstone, busy studying when he heard a loud commotion down in the makeshift clinic that served as the lower portion of his home. It was raining in the region known as Valhalla, a heavy downpour that hit the metal roofing of the DuFresne Family Clinic with a deafening crescendo.

He glanced up, brown eyes wincing behind purple eyeglasses at the disturbing noises both outside and inside the building. Doc frowned slightly at the sound of his parents below, their words drifting upwards along with an unknown, gruff-sounding voice.

If he could hear any talking sounds below through the cacophony brought by the stormy weather outside, then that probably meant that whatever the conversation was about was both dangerous and urgent. Which, to be honest, wasn't an entirely uncommon occurrence in a medical clinic given the always present and ominous Red and Blue war.

The dark-haired teen's suspicions about it being some kind of emergency were confirmed a second later when he heard his father calling for his assistance. Doc stood up quickly, racing down the stairs. He couldn't help but gulp nervously at what he saw on the lower level.

There was a soaked older man, clad in red armor. Red or blue, it wouldn't matter to him or his parents. As medics, they had seen their fair share of different armor colors over the years. Truthfully, the old soldier's armor wasn't particularly interesting. It was just the type of armor worn by any one of the many soldiers who etched out a living by fighting in the ongoing war that had engulfed the planet for who-knows-how-long.

What _was_ interesting was _who_ had obviously brought the red-armored soldier to the DuFresne Family Clinic. The older man held the unconscious body of a boy in pink clothes. The boy, who must have been just slightly younger than Doc given his smaller stature, was deathly pale. He also had the telltale signs of red liquid blooming underneath his shirt.

Doc noticed movement near the red-armored soldier, moving his bespectacled glance to the figure standing behind the older man. There he found a dark-skinned teen in teal clothing close to his own age. The boy was looking around the medical space with nervous energy, obviously unsure of what to make of the current situation.

Doc could relate to the younger man's anxiety even though, technically, this wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence in the DuFresne Family Clinic. The brown-haired teen stood at the bottom of the stairs, frozen at the sight of the three strangers until his parents began barking orders at him.

That was when he remembered what he had been called into the clinic for, Doc hurrying to assist the older DuFresne medics as best he could with whatever they needed him to do.

He might not be one of the best medics-in-training, as his parents had no doubt been when they were his age, however Doc would do whatever he could to help someone in need like they would.

* * *

The injured boy's name was Franklin Delano Donut. He was evidently an orphan that the older man, a traveling soldier named Sarge, had taken under his wing after he had found the dirty blond all by his lonesome trying to survive in one of the more rural regions of the planet.

That wasn't even the first time that Sarge had evidentially picked up a "stray" either as he had explained to the DuFresne family. He had gotten the teal-wearing teen named Lavernius Tucker a few months before Donut, after the orphan had been "dumped" on the red-armored man by a rival hippie soldier Sarge simply referred to as Flowers. Naturally, Sarge claimed he was thrilled to have found a fellow Red soldier in the pink-wearing Donut, as the two of them supposedly balanced out Tucker's innate "Blueness."

Evidently, there had been a surprise attack on the caravan that the trio had been traveling with on their way to Valhalla, which was how Donut had gotten into his current medical state.

Unfortunately, such stories were not all that uncommon. In fact, the DuFresne Family Clinic often encountered groups like Sarge's as the war continued raging on. It was one of the many, many reasons that had Doc preferring to follow the path of pacifism like his parents.

At the moment, Doc was sitting with Donut. The younger boy's condition had been stabilized and his parents had declared him out of any immediate danger. Donut was drifting in and out of consciousness, but he had become lucid enough to grip onto Doc's hand when the other boy had offered to go get him some water a couple of hours ago.

So, Doc remained seated next to him, his hand still held loosely in Donut's. Doc didn't have the heart to pull away from him just then considering how happy Donut had been at the prospect of having someone keep him company, a blush forming on his cheeks at their proximity.

Tucker had just checked in on Donut a few minutes earlier. The dark-skinned teen had smiled when he saw that the pink-wearing boy seemed to be doing better before going to get the water in Doc's stead. Voices were drifting into the room from the clinic hallway, and Doc couldn't help but make out snippets of the conversation that his parents were currently having with Sarge.

"…Might be staying for a while in Valhalla then. At least until he's recovered." The soldier in red was saying, obviously discussing future plans for his group.

Doc smiled slightly at what Sarge had said before he noticed that Donut was looking up at the expression on his face with a questioning gaze in his brown eyes.

"Oh!" Doc realized that Donut, still not entirely with it given his earlier injury, probably hadn't overheard the discussion amongst the adults just then, "It looks like we're going to be neighbors."

"Oh, that's awesome!" Donut exclaimed weakly-but-giddily from his bed, "I love decorating new houses!"

Though he was still in pain and heavily medicated due to his injuries, Donut managed a small smile up at Doc.

Doc thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

* * *

Years passed, and even pacifist medics like Doc's parents inevitably fell victim to the war. Both had been killed trying to help injured men and women out on the frontlines. Sarge, who had remained on pretty good terms with the family of medics and even stayed longer than originally planned in the region, took Doc in following the tragedy.

In his grief, Doc made the decision to truly honor his parents' memories by dedicating himself both to pacifism and medicine. Admitably, the young man was a better pacifist than medic.

Doc tried to do what he could to keep the DuFresne Family Clinic operational, but apparently his alternative treatment methods of aloe vera and orange juice seemed to not be quite as readily accepted as the medicine his parents had successfully utilized.

As the DuFresne Family Clinic eventually shut its doors, Sarge's group moved to a new region called Blood Gulch. The move was especially hard on Doc since he had lived in Valhalla all his life, but he tried his hardest to make the best of it. After all, Sarge and the others had no choice but to do so as well.

There were currently five of them living with the older soldier: himself, Donut, and Tucker…along with an awkward young man named Simmons and a robot called Lopez that Sarge had created one day out of spare parts. The red-armored soldier claimed that he made Lopez on some kind of maniacal whim, which maybe explained why the brown-armored robot spoke a language none of them could understand.

Doc still missed his parents greatly. The dark-haired man would remember their voices and picture their faces whenever he closed his eyes. He could see his mother's warm smile, and hear his father's thoughtful and tasteful jokes…

However, he didn't want to appear ungrateful for the kindness and generosity bestowed upon him by Sarge and the others. After all, they didn't have to take in a pacifist medic with barely enough training, but they did. In fact, most would have said Sarge was insane for doing so. …Although, truthfully, most people said Sarge was insane for a lot of different things.

So, Doc covered up his sadness and grief with a smile whenever he could, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was Donut who seemed to see through Doc's act. Yes, the slightly younger Donut who had lost so much himself. Of course the dirty blond would know what it was like to hide pain behind a smiling face.

One day, the pink-clothed boy pulled him aside, touching Doc's arm gently, "It's okay to cry, you know." Donut remarked quietly, brown eyes gentle and knowing.

That had been all it took to get the floodgates open—just some kind words from a friend that Doc probably, most _definitely_ , liked as more-than-just-a-friend.

Doc cried, muttering about how he really didn't want to appear ungrateful in-between sniffles and gasps for breath, "B—but I really miss them…!"

Donut enveloped him in a tight hug, the act nearly causing Doc's heart to stop beating as he desperately, gratefully returned the gesture in-between sobs.

"It's all right, Doc." Donut told him in a soothing voice, "You just let it all out. I can smile enough for the both of us, okay?"

When Doc _finally_ was able to pull himself away enough to look into Donut's surprisingly tear-stained face too, he saw that the dirty blond had a watery smile just then as well. Just for Doc's benefit. Given that, the purple-wearing medic couldn't help but smile through his tears too.

This time, the smiles that they both gave one another were genuine despite all the tears and mucus streaming down their faces.

Donut would later say there was no shame in sometimes "ugly crying." At least so long as no one else saw them do it.

* * *

Their "small" family of six exploded with the sudden inclusion of Church, also called Epsilon ( _…long story, that one_ ), into their lives. The sullen cyborg had brought with him, in one fashion or another, several other new faces too: Caboose and Sheila at first, followed by Carolina and Tex.

It was Tucker who later brought home Washington, despite his Freelancer ties to Church, Carolina, and Tex. The two of them had also come home with another surprise addition thrown into the mix: Tucker's infant son, Junior ( _also evidently another long story_ ).

Doc was thrilled to have Junior around. He had always not-so-secretly enjoyed babysitting, and seeing Donut or one of the others cooing over the glowing teal-lined baby always gave him a reason to smile.

It was a few weeks following that when Dexter Grif and his little sister Kaikaina joined their group's ranks, the last two members of what had become their makeshift family unit in Blood Gulch. At least until they eventually reached Chorus, though that too was a story for another time.

Things seemed to be going well for their group even with the crowding that accompanied a suddenly full house. Their place at Blood Gulch was definitely a lot livelier now, and Doc was usually always busy with one task or another to help keep his mind occupied.

…That was, everything was going well save for the fact that Grif and Simmons seemed to constantly get on one another's nerves.

The tension between the two was practically palpable. Doc would have said it was "like a hot knife through butter," but he did not like to use similes or metaphors with the implication of violence in them if he could avoid doing so.

Doc had turned the corner of the hallway where all of their bedrooms were located just in time to catch the tail-end of yet another argument between Grif and Simmons.

"Fine then! Stay out and see if I care, fat-ass!"

Simmons' door had slammed shut in front of Grif's face with just a glimpse of the blushing, extremely flustered redhead beforehand.

The chubbier man promptly gave the offending door the finger, "I will. Kiss-ass."

But the glare that Grif was giving the door seemed to have very little to do with anger from Doc's perspective if the blush steadily creeping over the tan-skinned man's body was any indication. Swallowing, Grif turned and stormed off, his face and neck still red. As he did so, Doc couldn't help but notice that the usually lazy man's face held an expression that was unreadably intense.

There was a whistle from behind Doc, and the brown-haired man spun around to see Donut standing there. The pink-armored man's eyes were following Grif's departure with a knowing glint in them.

"You saw that too, right?" He asked the medic-in-training, sighing dreamily as moved to stand right next to Doc, "Those two clearly _adore_ each other. Isn't it romantic?"

"Umm…" Doc glanced over at Simmons' closed door and the hallway that Grif had disappeared down only moments before.

He wasn't so sure if "romantic" was the right word for what was going on between the two of them currently, but he did hope that they would figure out a way to resolve whatever-it-was before they drove everyone else crazy.

He glanced over at Donut curiously, "How did you figure out about them?"

Donut hummed appreciatively to the question, nodding his dirty blond head, "Oh, I have a knack for this sort of thing."

"I—I see." Doc turned his head away just then, hoping to hide the blush that was forming on his features behind his new pink eyeglass frames.

Did that mean that Donut was already aware of how he felt about him? Should he just gather up the courage to tell him?

"But things really have gotten pretty hectic around here, huh?" Donut changed the subject a second later, looking oddly contemplative.

Not trusting his voice to speak, Doc merely nodded. He found he lost his nerve to confess with the sudden change of topic.

"I like having a full house now though." Donut remarked, "We can all fill each other's holes!"

"I like having all of us here too." Doc couldn't help but respond truthfully to the apparently shared sentiment between the two of them while ignoring the second part of Donut's statement, nodding his brown-haired head in agreement.

"Even though there's obviously going to be adjustments that have to be made, I have a feeling it will all work out somehow!" Donut nodded to himself quite vigorously at this statement, "Yeah, I think that everyone's going to do great!"

Donut smiled, turning to face Doc again. Doc couldn't help but believe what the pink-armored soldier said too, especially given the conviction in the other man's voice.

He nodded in response, smiling too.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I hope you liked Doc's prequel story! :) I had fun writing his as he is a character I don't usually write POVs from, though that might be slowly changing in the future. It was really fun writing all of those Docnut moments and sneaking in a bit of Grimmons too. :) Yep, Doc has obviously had a crush on Donut for a REALLY long time in _The opposite of war is… {Sci-Fi AU}_ series and just hasn't had the courage to confess it yet. But, he will get there eventually in the _When We Were Soldiers_ story, I am sure of it! :D

By the way, I just saw all of Season 14 of _RvB_ this Sunday, and I really enjoyed it! :) My personal favorite episode was "Head Cannon," but they were all great. :D Definitely looking forward to seeing whatever the future will hold in Season 15 now! :)

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D

Next up in _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Church's turn! :)


	21. Chapter 18

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eighteen:

Dexter Grif's mind was still reeling from what had happened before when he had touched Simmons, so the chubby man didn't say a damn thing to anyone when he ran out of the warehouse.

Of course, when Grif was stressed and unsure of what to do, there was one thing both his body and mind always agreed on: food.

…He _was_ an emotional eater, after all. Not to mention a stress eater, and a lazy eater. One might even use the phrase _compulsive eater_ , but Grif wasn't really one for labels.

"Food as therapy" was so common for him that Cass didn't even question Grif's sudden, out-of-breath appearance at her bar and restaurant. In fact, the brunette didn't even say a word when he plopped down into his usual seat. Within minutes, a plate of his favorite foods was set in front of him, and he began devouring it as a means of destressing.

It _was_ almost working. Grif currently wasn't dwelling on the way his body had practically _burned_ at Simmons' touch, or about the argument they'd had even prior to that incident. Nope, the orange-wearing soldier was trying not to think of the redhead at all. …Of Simmons' eyes dilating, even his cybernetic one, at the sound that Grif had made at their skin-to-skin contact…

Okay, so he was thinking about the cyborg. A little bit. _Maybe._ At least, he _was_ vaguely recollecting recent events when someone completely unexpected and extremely unwelcome sat down suddenly across from him.

Grif stopped inhaling his food in order to glare at a thoroughly smug Malcolm Hargrove, "What the fuck was with that stunt you pulled at the clinic?" He couldn't help snarling out a second later.

Oh, if he could only fucking get away with punching this guy he'd probably feel a hell of a lot better.

Hargrove, naturally, seemed nonplussed by the amount of venom being thrown his way, "I'm merely trying to look out for Simmons as a concerned family friend." The older man stated evenly, which was naturally interpreted as being smug-as-shit.

Grif couldn't help but snort in disbelief. A man who had essentially "bought" Simmons years ago wasn't just a concerned family friend. He was about to point out the obvious bullshit when Hargrove continued, evidently choosing to ignore the younger man's derisive action.

"I am not sure that your relationship with one another, however you might wish to describe it, is a good one for him."

Grif saw red, slamming his hands on the table and jumping upright, "Well, fortunately for all of us, that's really none of your fucking business." He snarled out.

Oh, yeah. The genetically engineered man _definitely_ wanted to punch Hargrove's weathered old face right about now.

"Oh, calm down." Hargrove reacted to Grif's rather obvious anger dismissively, dabbing at the table with a napkin as if afraid it was dirty (which was bullshit, really. Cass kept her place _spotless_ ), "I also happen to know that you do care for him a great deal. In your own way."

When Grif didn't get up any further or move away, Hargrove continued, "I know that you are no doubt well-aware that our efforts to halt whatever is happening with the power malfunctions of this region are not progressing as smoothly as we'd like." The older man noted, almost regrettably.

Grif snorted, "Yeah, no shit." He muttered sarcastically.

Maybe it was just the fact that he didn't trust Hargrove as far as he could throw him, but Grif was actually starting to suspect that the delay in figuring out a solution to the power situation was somehow on purpose.

"It might be in Simmons' and everyone else who has been affected by this' best interests to leave the area for a while." Hargrove carried on as if Grif hadn't spoken, "I have doctors on standby who would love to help them recover from _whatever_ this is. As quickly as possible. They could easily return once things in Chorus are settled."

Grif frowned, saying nothing. While he obviously wanted Simmons and his other friends to feel better, the thought of the cyborg in particular leaving made him _very_ uneasy for some reason.

"Besides," and Hargrove wasn't even done being a pompous asshole yet, "Some time apart might give the two of you a chance to rethink your choices, and what it is you both want out of life."

Grif had to mentally hold himself back by imagining how upset Simmons would be if he did something stupid but oh-so-satisfying right then and there, like throwing a plate of perfectly good food at Hargrove. The fact that he was really tempted to waste food _proved_ how truly ticked off he was.

"Thanks for the advice." Grif somehow managed to grind out before jumping up and promptly leaving the restaurant, leaving the food on his plate as he did so.

He was _that_ fucking pissed.

* * *

"…And that's when I saw them holding hands!" Donut squealed excitedly as Doc listened intently, "Isn't that just the _sweetest_?"

"Lo que quiero saber es por qué tantas de sus historias involucran la mano." _{"What I want to know is why so many of your stories involve hand-holding."}_

Sheila tilted her head politely, "It sounds like a lovely moment, Donut."

"Agreed," Doc stated cheerily, "And you'd be surprised at the health benefits to hand-holding as well!"

"Really?" Donut tapped his lips thoughtfully, "We should do a little experiment of our own then!"

Doc's face took on a reddish hue just then, complimenting his pink framed glasses, "Y—yes, let's."

Sheila and Lopez both shared a pointed look with one another at the exchange.

The four friends were having what Donut liked to refer to as their "patented watercooler discussions." Sans the actual watercooler, naturally, since they were huddled around Lopez's workbench in the warehouse.

Moments like this provided the four a chance to catch up with one another. Not to mention they could use these discussions to take much needed breaks from work while Sarge went off to spend some quality "date time" with Doctor Grey.

Doc enjoyed these moments with his friends, especially since it gave him an extra opportunity to talk to _one_ friend in particular. His brown-eyed gaze wandered subconsciously towards the pink-wearing Donut standing nearby.

"Say, Doc," said friend was now looking over at the medic with a fond expression bound to turn Doc into mush at any moment, "I really want to thank you again for your help on my Super Duper Secret Project before."

Sheila looked curious at the comment, "Super… _Duper_ Secret Project?" The robot inquired, tilting her head in an interested manner as she had no doubt seen her human friends do in similar circumstances.

"¿Qué clase de nombre es ese?" _{"What the fuck kind of name is that?"}_

Lopez's question sounded oddly sarcastic, though Doc couldn't be sure. After all, the purple-wearing man didn't want to jump to conclusions too readily. He wasn't the type to judge.

"Oh, it's just a little thing I help Grif with sometimes." Donut told them, "No biggie!"

"... El nombre podría ser engañoso, entonces." _{"…The name might be misleading, then."}_

"I'm just glad that I could help." Doc blushed again, glad to be privy to Donut's secret. It might be silly, but it made him feel like he and Donut had a stronger connection.

"You did! Grif was so thankful! You could just tell. You know, from his body language." Donut prattled on, grinning, "I still don't know how you managed to get through that hole after I kept ramming and ramming without any success, Doc!"

The two robots glanced at one another again, obviously in regards to Donut's choice of words just then.

"Oh, you mean threading the needle?" Doc asked, completely picking up on what Donut had _meant_ to say, "That can definitely be tricky."

"You're telling me!" Donut nodded his dirty blond head of hair exuberantly, "I even tried getting it all good and wet with my spit beforehand!"

"Alguien, por favor cambie de tema." _{"Someone, please change topics."}_

No sooner had Lopez spoken then there was a sudden flicker of the warehouse's lights. Donut gasped as both Sheila and Lopez _crumpled_ , the lights coming back on not a second later.

"Are you all right?" Doc heard both himself and Donut ask at the same time once their robotic compatriots started moving again.

"¿Se parece a él?" _{"Does it look like it?"}_

Lopez pulled himself up first, albeit sluggishly as he helped Sheila get on her feet. His electronic voice sounded a bit stalled as he slowly started the rebooting process.

"We're…we're fine." Sheila assured the two humans with her own stalled voice, "It just…takes a moment for everything…to get back online."

Now it was Doc and Donut's turn to share a look, both anxious and worried. Donut stepped forward to help steady his friends, "Should we…should we get you guys to Sarge? Or to Doctor Grey?" He asked out of natural concern.

"No tendría sentido, con qué tan corta era esta." _{"There would be no point, with how short this one was."}_

Lopez shook his head as he spoke, Sheila nodding in quiet agreement with whatever he had said.

Donut frowned, and it seemed as if his knack for sometimes understanding the brown-armored robot kicked in because he tried protesting: "But—!"

Sheila patted his shoulder comfortingly, "Thank you, Donut. But, I think it would be for the best if we rested instead."

Lopez nodded, chiming in a second later with an awkward "Gracias" _{"Thank you"}_ of his own.

The two robots walked off then, leaning into one another as they did so. Doc watched them go, a nervous feeling developing in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, Doc?" When Donut spoke, his voice was hesitant and not at all like the cheerful one that the purple medic had come to know and love.

"Y—yes?" Donut's anxious tone had caused Doc's own voice to come out a bit squeakier than he had intended.

Donut was frowning, his brown eyes glued to the door that Lopez and Sheila had just disappeared through, "I'm worried about our friends."

Doc didn't know how to respond to that, really. After all, he was worried about them too. So, the brown-haired medic did the only thing he could think to do in that moment. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Donut's shoulders, pulling him closer to his body.

Donut didn't respond by getting shocked or pulling away either. Rather, he surprised Doc by actively leaning into the touch. The two stayed standing like that for a long while, offering each other silent support and warmth.

* * *

"Okay. Let's take a break." Washington stated in an annoyingly cheerful voice.

The Freelancer's chipper tone made Lavernius Tucker want to haul off and punch him. If his limbs had the strength or energy to do so, that is. Currently, he was so exhausted that his body had come to a complete halt.

"Oh, thank fuck!" Tucker panted out with his hands on his knees, his entire frame sagging forward as he tried to catch his breath.

Washington watched the dark-skinned man with mild amusement flickering in his gray eyes, "Tired, Tucker?" he asked.

Tucker gave the blond the finger as he continued struggling to breathe, "Why…why the fuck did I have to st—stay behind when the lieutenants got to leave?"

"Ah." Understanding crossed over the older man's features, "I suppose it was only a matter of time before that came up."

"Yeah, you bet your ass it would after I heave a fucking lung up over here!" Tucker glared up at the genetically engineered soldier.

Washington offered Tucker his hand, which the teal-armored soldier grasped tightly so that the Freelancer could pull him up. The younger man tried not to think _too_ much on the warmth that he felt growing in his chest at the contact.

"Training is not only a good way to keep yourself focused, but it is also a good way to distract you from things that might be bothering you." Washington said in way of explanation, almost reluctantly letting go of Tucker's hand a moment longer than was probably necessary.

"And your point is…?" Tucker stared at him blankly, not sure what the hell Wash was getting at and too fucking tired to deal with subtlety.

"As you trained, you weren't thinking at all about Felix's comments in regards to Junior. Right?" The Freelancer questioned, gray-eyed stare surprisingly warm.

Tucker opened his mouth to respond but shut it immediately when he realized just how _right_ Washington was.

Washington shot him a knowing smirk, "See?" He prompted, almost mockingly smug.

"Yeah, okay. You're right about that. I guess." Tucker mumbled, managing to smile slightly at the blond-haired man despite the aches in his muscles and the sweat coating his body, "Thanks, man."

Washington returned the smile, his face taking on a blushing hue that made his freckles pop out even more than normal. It was cute.

…It only lasted a moment, however. "Now let's go for another fifty laps!" Washington exclaimed a second later, far too happily.

"Oh, fuck off!" Tucker groaned at how wide the smile on the Freelancer's face had gotten just then.

* * *

"So, things between you and Cass have gotten pretty hot and heavy, huh?" Kai jokingly asked Andersmith as Antoine Bitters and the other lieutenants made their way to the restaurant and entertainment district of Chorus.

"Um…!" Andersmith's face turned a brilliant shade of red at the question, much to the mirth of everyone around him.

"That's so sweet!" Jensen assured the older rookie, patting her friend comfortingly on the arm.

Kai, Volleyball, and Matthews all nodded their heads in agreement with the tan-skinned girl. The show of support caused Andersmith to relax and regard them all gratefully.

"Man, though!" Palomo changed subjects with a thoughtful expression looming on his bandaged features, "Is it just me or have Agent Washington's training methods gotten more severe?"

"No, it isn't just you who has noticed that." Andersmith replied, frowning a bit himself as he walked with a slight limp.

"Yeah, I think the cop's going overboard." Kai threw in her two cents with a grimace as she stretched out a kink in her left shoulder, "The dude clearly doesn't know how to chill. Such a bitch."

"He's just concerned by the mercs being around and the power outages." Bitters spoke up rather quickly, "Give him a fucking break." There was stunned silence all around them then, and Bitters felt his face begin to get flushed in response, "What?" he demanded of everyone testily.

"Nothing." Volleyball quickly stated, "It's just surprising to hear you defend someone. That's all."

Bitters made a " _Tch!_ " sound, turning his multi-colored head of hair to the side in the process. The others all smiled at his embarrassed reaction, making the lieutenant in orange trim feel even _more_ self-conscious than normal.

Without so much as a word, Kaikaina reached over to Volleyball and grasped her hand gently as they walked. The blonde looked over at the younger Grif sibling in mild surprise, her face warming up slightly as she smiled and squeezed back. Kai didn't even seem to notice how red her own face got at the contact between them, or she likely just didn't give a shit.

Palomo glanced over at the two women enviously before his dark-eyed gaze went straight towards Jensen, who was obliviously smiling at the pair. Palomo's fingertips were twitching ever so slightly at his sides, obviously wanting to reach for Jensen's hand.

Bitters could understand how the young man was feeling in more ways than he'd like to admit. He glanced over at Matthews, almost wondering what it would be like to possibly show such affection with him.

Unfortunately, that was around the same time when Matthews had glanced over at him, eyes wide and questioning. "I—is something wrong?" The auburn-haired lieutenant asked worriedly the second that he noticed that Bitters was staring at him.

"N—no. Not a thing." Bitters stated quickly before moving away rapidly at such a fast pace that the other lieutenants had to struggle to keep up with him.

* * *

"Hey, Boss Lady," Felix knocked on the open doorway of Vanessa Kimball's office, "You got a minute?"

"Felix." Kimball put down the stylus she had been using to peruse papers and other documents of interest on her tenth datapad of the day, "What do you need? Are conditions all right for you and your men?"

"Oh, they're hunky-dory. No need to worry about that." The slender mercenary stepped inside the office space, hands behind his back, "I just thought I'd let you know about something interesting that I saw today."

"Interesting how?" The dark-skinned woman looked up at Felix curiously then.

"Your ah…co-leader, Doyle?" He asked her, smirking, "I just caught him talking to that Santa A.I. about the symbolic ramifications of that sword he's bonded to."

Kimball frowned, "I imagine Doyle's just curious about the relic he has now."

"Or he's planning on using it in some kind of power struggle later on." Felix looked down at his fingernails in boredom before glancing over at her once more, "You guys aren't exactly subtle about your arguments, you know." When Kimball's frown deepened, Felix put his hands up in the air in mock surrender, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I just thought you should know."

At length, Kimball sighed and nodded, "Thank you, Felix."

"Anytime, boss."

With that, Felix was out the door without a second look back, leaving Kimball alone in her office to wonder whether or not she should talk about this whole matter face-to-face with Doyle.

* * *

The lights had flickered, which explained why Grif only remained standing in front of Simmons' apartment door for about ten seconds before he keyed in the code to open it. The reality was that he had long since memorized the redhead's particular code along with his own.

Speaking of the cyborg, the chubby man found a startled Simmons standing in his living room. The nerd's momentary surprise at Grif's sudden entrance turned into his typical flustered annoyance a second later.

"It's called knocking, fat-ass." Simmons told him tiredly, no real venom behind his words.

The orange-wearing man ignored the bitchy kiss-ass, "There was another power outage." Grif noted without preamble, looking the lankier man over, "You okay?"

The stricken look that crossed over the cyborg's face just then had Grif remembering Hargrove's words from earlier. He debated nearly telling Simmons about their conversation, but decided against it. Something about Hargrove's offer just didn't sit well with him, even beyond the implied separation. That wasn't even taking into account how much of an asshole Grif thought the older man was.

The look dissipated from the redhead's features a moment later as he shook his head, "I—I'm fine." He informed Grif before shooting the genetically engineered man a pointed look, "I should be asking if _you're_ okay."

Grif blinked dark eyes in surprise, "Me?"

"Yeah, you." Simmons nodded, "With what happened before…"

Oh, right. The maroon-wearing man didn't even need to finish that thought. Grif knew exactly what he was referring to: the incident when Simmons' mere touch had practically unglued him. Watching Simmons as his freckled face began to blush in remembrance of what had happened between them earlier, Grif felt his face heat up too.

"It's…it's close to time, right?" Simmons managed to squeak out, face turning a brilliant shade of red as he did so, "For your…ah, _release_?"

Grif frowned, knowing that what Simmons said was true but _really_ not wanting to deal with the issue at the moment.

Simmons walked over and reached out to touch Grif consolingly on the arm, "It's…it's _okay_ , Grif, I—!"

No sooner had the cyborg done just that than a wave of _heat_ so intense that Grif nearly lost his balance washed over him. Grif stumbled, the sensation and tingling feeling still running through his body even after a surprised and blushing Simmons had dropped his arm to the side.

The orange-wearing man _recognized_ the sensation now. He hadn't felt it so intensely or as strongly as this since…

…Since that night years ago when he and Simmons had sex.

Grif wasn't sure _what_ to make of the realization, shaking his dark-haired head as he took a quivering step away from the thoroughly confused Simmons. All the chubby man could focus on was the redhead's green, organic eye wide in shock.

"I…I can't really talk about this yet." Grif informed the slightly younger man once his erratic breathing suddenly dropped to at least a somewhat normal pace, "S—sorry, Simmons."

Simmons, concerned, reached out for him again unthinkingly, "Grif…"

Grif didn't stay to hear whatever neurotic rambling Simmons would try to sputter out. The tan-skinned man was already turning and heading out the apartment door as fast as his feet could carry him, leaving a flabbergasted nerd behind even though he wanted nothing more than to stay.

But, as much as he _really_ wanted to be with Simmons at the moment, he recognized that he needed to talk to someone else who would have some experience with what he was currently going through. Hopefully the kiss-ass would forgive him for leaving in an uncharacteristic hurry.

As much as the idea filled his admittedly lazy-ass with a looming sense of dread, Dexter Grif knew he was going to have to talk to his little sister to try to figure out what the fuck was going on.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to get out! The last few days have been pretty hectic, and that took a toll on my writing. But, hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! Lots of cute moments were had, as well as some more serious ones.

Next up, Grif has a "sort-of" talk with Kai about his condition. That should be interesting! XD Kimball might end up confronting Doyle too, which will probably not go over greatly. Just what is Hargrove and the mercs' endgame? We shall have to wait to see!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :D


	22. Chapter 19

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Nineteen:

"Oh, oh! This is my favorite party of the whole story!" Caboose exclaimed happily from his spot next to the cot, "Do you want to know what happens next, Church?"

Leonard Church had just about enough of this shit.

First of all, he was holed up in bed due to yet _another_ fucking headache caused by those annoying as-all-fuck power outages. Secondly, Caboose was trying to _read_ to him so he'd " _feel better_." Caboose's attempts at reading often got hopelessly sidetracked by constant questions and narrative comments, making the damn thing go on _forever_.

Light was still causing a sharp pain in his forehead and Church groaned, using his hand to shield his blue eyes from the offending sight.

"Can't you go and bug someone else for a while, Caboose?" Church demanded, his tone one of pained exasperation.

Caboose's overly cheerful expression fell the second the question left his lips, and Church regretted it immediately.

"Everyone else is too busy." A downcast blond informed Church, "Red Sargent took Sheila, Lopez, and Freckles away for tests after their last game of playing dead."

Ah, so _that_ explained why he hadn't seen the two robots around recently…and why Caboose's trusty gun companion was nowhere to be found.

He felt like a grade-A jackass when Caboose stated quietly, "…I hate that game now."

Church sighed, not really in the mood to correct Caboose's comment since it wouldn't have worked anyways, "You and me both, buddy."

"I'm not supposed to visit them yet." Caboose continued, bolstered by Church's rare display of sympathy, "I'm worried, Church."

Church felt his headache looming in the forefront of his brain as he admitted " _Me too_." under his breath.

His glance went over to where Simmons was sitting with a nervous-looking Junior nearby at the opposite side of Doctor Grey's clinic, the crazy lady having gone off to run some errands a while ago.

The dark-haired man had nearly forgotten that today was Simmons' day to watch Junior while Tucker ran some errands with, not surprisingly in the slightest, Washington. The poor kid was probably just as worried about the effects of the power outages as Caboose was.

…No doubt the other cyborg was just as nervous about them as Church tried to pretend _not_ to be.

"Hey, this is utter bullshit, isn't it?" He called out to Simmons just then, feeling oddly comradely for a change given their current situation.

Simmons blinked, apparently taken aback that Church had even spoken to him before the nerd gave a tired, sort-of pained smile and nodded his red-haired head in agreement.

"Yeah, it totally sucks." The kiss-ass said, his green human eye and red cybernetic one focusing on the book that was still in Caboose's hand and smiling slightly, "Say, Caboose, I bet Junior would love to hear a story." Simmons started, glancing over at the boy sitting beside him, "Wouldn't you, Junior?"

Junior's expression immediately lifted, and the small boy smiled brightly as he nodded his head.

"Oh, boy!" Caboose exclaimed happily at the prospect, "We're at my favorite part too!"

The large blue-wearing blond moved his chair over to the side of the clinic where Junior and Simmons were, excitedly pointing to something in the pages of the book he was holding.

The words of the story and Caboose's excited commentary turned into indecipherable jargon and background noise in Church's ears. But, both Caboose and Junior seemed happy enough with the arrangement, even momentarily forgetting their worries.

Church smiled inwardly, somewhat glad even if that sense of ease wasn't something he'd normally ever feel. He caught Simmons' contemplative frown and knew that he was probably thinking similar thoughts, though the redhead couldn't help but smile slightly all the same when he saw how into Caboose's story Junior was getting.

* * *

Dexter Grif had to admit that it was always a bit surprising to see his little sister in her chosen field of medicine. Even when she had to train with the other lieutenants, Kai remained adamant on her stance that " _guns were gross_ " and refused to wield one.

Kai as a medic was a reminder that maybe, just _maybe_ he hadn't done such a bad job in raising her despite their rocky past.

Or rather, it _would_ be, if he hadn't currently stepped into the doctor's office to find his little sister trying to create a pyramid out of brightly colored packages of condoms.

"Goddamn it, Kai!" Grif couldn't help but swear when he saw the neon colored design resting on the medical room's examining table.

Kai took her big brother's exasperation in stride, grinning up mischievously from her chair, "What are you now, a cop?"

The chubby man sighed, figuring it was best to just ignore her remark. Instead, he glanced around the space for a familiar suit of tan armor with purple stripes, "Where's Bones?"

Kai shrugged, furrowing her dark brows in thought, "I think she's at lunch or something. I finished organizing all the supplies, so now…"

Grif glanced over at the condom pyramid when his sister trailed off, "You got bored." He surmised.

The tan-skinned young woman nodded, regarding him suspiciously, "So what?" Kai asked, "You have a medical emergency? Got your penis stuck in something it shouldn't be?"

There was a slight note of concern mixed in with her curiosity, and Grif couldn't help but feel somewhat touched by it even if her second question was annoying as fuck. He frowned all the same as he pondered over her first question at least, sitting down in the chair opposite her.

 _Did_ not being able to get off with anyone else's touch but Simmons' count as a medical emergency or was he just overreacting? The genetically engineered man really couldn't say either way, and that was frustrating the fuck out of him.

That frustration must have been visible in his expression just then, because Kai had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face as she regarded him, "Dex?"

He blinked, shaking his dark-haired head to dispel his thoughts. He might as well just get this over with. "Actually, it was _you_ that I wanted to talk to, Kai." Grif informed her without preamble.

In a way, Bones not being here was a blessing. It was always weird talking about their genetically engineered _condition_ in front of others.

"Me?" Kai blinked in surprise before she fixed him with a suspicious dark-eyed glare, "About what? Because those two guys were already going at it before I jumped in and—!"

Grif shook his head, "No, that's not fucking it." A second later her words caught up with him, "Wait, _what_? Damn it, Kai!"

Kai visibly relaxed at the notion that her big bro was still in the dark over _whatever_ type of shenanigans she had been involved in, "Oh, sweet! Never mind then!" She quickly changed topics, "What's on your mind?"

The orange-wearing man frowned, mentally reminding himself that later on he no doubt needed to have yet _another_ talk with Kai about not doing anything to embarrass the family, but then quickly said his piece, "Simmons."

Kai snorted and rolled her dark eyes at the same time, "Yeah, yeah. So, what _else_ is new?"

Grif couldn't help but also roll his eyes in response. Kai had long since figured out his feelings for the cyborg, so he supposed she had a point.

"This is different, Kai." He said quietly, looking down at the ugly ass moldy tiles on the floor.

Kai blinked, apparently taken aback by the serious and rather dejected way that Grif was acting, "What's going on?"

Grif clenched his hands into fists, "I know I'm getting close to my time," he knew he didn't have to elaborate any further with Kai since she was in the same boat, "But something's _wrong_."

Kai's expression looked serious then, and she appeared for all the world like the medic-in-training that she was. Despite what he was feeling at the moment, he couldn't help but be proud of her. Fucking Big Brother Mode was hard to get rid of.

"What do you mean?" Kai finally asked when it became apparent her brother wasn't going to elaborate.

"I'm not reacting to just anyone's touch anymore." Which was in and of itself completely abnormal at this stage of needing release, "Only…only Simmons'. Also, it's a lot more…" Grif trailed off then, suddenly realizing just how awkward it was having this conversation with his little sister of all people.

"A lot more intense than usual?" Kai finished for him, frowning in thought as she swiveled her chair around once.

Grif sighed and nodded.

"So, you came to your little sister for relationship advice." Now, a smug-looking Kai seemed rather amused by the situation.

Grif sighed again and stood up, figuring that he'd made a big mistake. It was Kai's sudden grip on his larger arm that stopped him.

Looking down, he saw the yellow-wearing girl back in " _Serious Mode_ " once again, "I've sort of researched people like us a lot in my free time." Kai admitted, surprisingly sheepishly, "I guess…I guess I was just curious about where we came from or some shit."

Grif sat back down. In a way, he could understand her curiosity. Kai had been a lot younger than him when they had been kicked out of their batch for being too " _imperfect_." He had been older and had known exactly what they had been designed for, so the curiosity had never been there for him.

"Well, have you heard of strange-as-fuck situations like this one?" The tan-skinned man finally asked her apathetically.

Kai nodded, "It's actually pretty common."

 _That_ caught Grif's attention, "It is?"

First time he'd ever fucking heard of it.

"You've been in love with the gray nerd for how many years now?" Kai started to explain, "Your body's simply adjusted to accommodate the strength of those feelings given the physical effect they've had on you."

Un-fucking-believable. Grif stared at her blankly.

"That's why genetically engineered people like us are exposed to so many different people if raised normally." Kai muttered, glancing down at the ground, "It's a known side effect that the manufacturers tried to avoid."

Grif hated how genetically engineered people had been chalked up to basically mere merchandise during the war, and he felt bad that Kai had researched this on her own given everything. Still, he had to focus on her words now.

"So you're telling me…" He began, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat, "That my body now only wants _Simmons_?"

It wasn't exactly a shocker given that it had been that way emotionally for _years_ now, but this sudden biological adaptation or whatever it was definitely complicated matters.

Kai nodded, almost looking wistful herself, "It's sort of romantic, if you think about it." She tried consoling him, dark eyes warm in a way he didn't normally see.

The dark-haired man wondered if Kai was thinking about that Volleyball girl that she had become rather close to recently.

Grif shook his head to shake those thoughts away, completely unused to this level of heaviness in conversations with his sister, "And a major pain in the ass too." He stated in response to her statement, "Especially since Simmons doesn't seem interested in me that way."

Kai stared at him like he was the world's biggest idiot, and he sighed as dramatically as he could for effect before standing up once more to leave.

"Well, dumbass, you're going to have to figure things out soon." Kai called after him, "That level of attachment to only one person only intensifies _things_."

Grif paused at the door, unsure of how to respond.

"Majorly sucks to be you, bro." Kai added a moment later, both sympathetically and jokingly at the same time.

"Fuck it all." He could only groan out in response before leaving the medical room entirely.

* * *

"You're being completely unreasonable, Miss Kimball—!"

"Only by _your_ standards." The dark-haired woman shouted back before turning away, "Just make sure it doesn't happen again!"

With that, Vanessa Kimball was gone. Left behind in the Chorus leader's wake was a dumbfounded Donald Doyle, who now stood alone in the streets of the Armonia District.

Doyle blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened _this_ time to lead to such a fantastic shouting match between the two co-leaders. Honestly? His mind was drawing a huge blank.

He was fairly certain that their conversation had started out cordially enough with talk about the weather and other things but, when the topic changed to the continued power outages around Chorus and what they should do about them, suddenly Doyle was " _overstepping his bounds_ " or some such utter nonsense.

His heart was still racing. Truthfully, he'd never had the pleasure of meeting someone half as infuriatingly stubborn as Vanessa Kimball before. He frowned in his contemplation, recalling that _something_ had appeared to be troubling the woman throughout their conversation even before the _actual_ fight had occurred.

Doyle wondered if he could perhaps help her with whatever the issue was, if only to make for a more amicable work environment. Surely _not_ because he thought a smile suited her best or…

"She seems to feel threatened by the sword choosing you at the temple," a calm, deep voice interrupted his trailing off thoughts, "Especially since it gives you such a stronger connection to a powerful and ancient Artificial Intelligence."

Doyle started, surprised to find Locus standing there. His face turned red in embarrassment at the notion that their most recent altercation had been seen by someone. Embarrassment abating, Locus' words started making their way into his brain and the Chorus leader couldn't help but frown.

Locus took the brown-haired man's silence then as an apparent cue to continue, "One should be wary of someone who is so desperate for power." He advised.

Doyle's immediate reaction was to deny the charges. He _knew_ his co-leader.

True, they might have extreme differences on pretty much _most_ topics, but he knew that Kimball was not power-hungry. No, the woman loved Chorus more than anyone else he'd ever met, himself included. It was one of the many things that he admired about her.

He opened his mouth to do just that, but his still current frustration left no words to come forth. Doyle was left to gape awkwardly, like a fish out of water. He just wasn't good at these kinds of situations!

Locus regarded the older man carefully for a few seconds before speaking up again, "I would merely advise you to keep an eye on things." The steel-with-green armored mercenary stated before walking away.

Doyle stood there a long while, recent events playing again and again in his head as a heavy feeling of gloom suddenly settled over his shoulders like a wet blanket.

* * *

Richard "Dick" Simmons was trying his hardest to recover from the latest " _blackout_ " episode, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself as he retreated to the warehouse alone.

 _It had been some time since Sheila and Lopez had returned from the tests that Sarge had wanted to run on them. The two Virtual Intelligences had headed directly to the clinic along with Freckles to check on Caboose and Junior, who were still reading together._

 _When they had walked in, Simmons glanced at the clock. It was only an hour or so until both Tucker and Washington would come to collect Junior. No doubt the three of them would go home together, as they so often did._

 _The redhead had taken the opportunity to go to the kitchen area of the warehouse and indulge in some much-needed coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help get rid of the remaining sluggishness in his body._

Currently, the results were less than promising. Simmons sighed into his coffee mug, thinking back to the others in the same general boat as he was.

Church had left the clinic a little earlier than Simmons had, already in his " _everything's fucking fine!_ " mode. No doubt the cobalt-wearing man was getting prepared for when he ran into his sister later. Church would have a hard time convincing Carolina not to worry. Simmons didn't envy him.

Simmons really, _really_ wished that he could do the same and have his own " _everything's fucking fine!_ " mode. But, with the frequency of the power outages and the effect they were having on him and the others, he couldn't help but feel more and more worried.

Deep down, he knew that Church was feeling the same. That they _all_ were. The maroon-wearing nerd had just always been horrible at keeping his anxieties at bay.

The redhead sighed again, wondering just what he could do today to get his mind off of things when heavy footfalls suddenly entered the kitchen from behind him.

Simmons turned around, his face warming up slightly at the sight of Grif standing there, regarding him intently.

The chubby man was panting and slightly out of breath, which meant that he had uncharacteristically run there from somewhere else. Given the timeframe from when they had last spoken, it couldn't have been a long distance.

"Just how out of shape are you, fat-ass?" Simmons asked, wanting to break the tension that had suddenly entered the room with their usual banter. It apparently worked a little bit.

"Shut up. That was a lot of fucking running, kiss-ass!" Pulling himself away from the door frame with effort, Grif stepped forward and looked Simmons up and down as if checking him over for any injuries, "I heard about the power outage." He stated without preamble, "How are you doing?"

Simmons felt the blush coating his features deepen at the obvious concern being sent his way from the normally apathetic _Grif_ of all people and he smiled weakly, "Better now." He answered honestly, but winced when he realized how that might sound, "I—I mean…!"

The redhead trailed off when he noticed the momentary flicker of relief at the confirmation that he was currently okay be replaced by an intensely serious look as Grif continued to regard him.

"W—what's wrong?" Simmons finally managed to squeak out, hating having so much scrutiny directed his way.

Grif blinked, a surprisingly determined expression crossing over his tan features a moment later as he motioned with his arm for Simmons to follow him out the door.

"We need to talk." He told him.

* * *

"…And that's when I left." Cass finished explaining quietly, before shooting Andersmith a weak smile, "My family never did understand me. It was hard at first, but in the end I'm glad I made the choice."

Andersmith shook his dark head of hair, "That's an incredible story."

The brunette looked at the lieutenant thoughtfully, "Really? I can't say it's very different from too many others."

"In a way, perhaps. But," Andersmith chose his words carefully, "You were so young. I didn't leave my home until just a few years ago."

"You had a family. That's incredible in and of itself." Cass informed him gently, hand clenching onto the wedding ring on a chain that still hung around her neck, "Believe me, I know."

"Indeed." Andersmith reached to the ring around his own neck at his remark and he couldn't help but wonder just how much in common they had with each other.

The two smiled peacefully at one another from across the bar, a knowing look in their eyes. It seemed that perhaps they were both thinking the same thing.

It was Cass who broke away first, her smile deepening, "Would you…would you like some coffee?" She asked, "I have just enough left in the pot for two cups."

"That would be wonderful." Andersmith smiled back at her, noticing that they both had blushes on their faces.

Just as Cass was turning around to grab for the coffee pot, the door to her restaurant opened.

She didn't glance up at first, and didn't notice Andersmith stiffening where he sat on the barstool as she said to the new arrival: "Sorry, we're closed right now."

"Shame, and here I thought that this was the right time for chatting." A surprisingly familiar voice for both Cass and Andersmith remarked, though the reasons as to why they both knew that particular voice couldn't have been more different from each other.

Cass in particular stiffened at the sound of Terrence's voice, turning around to see the now burned man smirking at her with shark motif helmet in his hands. Andersmith moved slightly while still sitting at the bar in an awkward attempt to shield Cass from view while Terrence watched the action, clearly amused.

Cass swallowed, "W—what are you doing here, Terrence?" She demanded in a shaking voice.

This was not the same Terrence that had been like a big brother figure to her, Grif, and Kai while they were growing up. Nor was he the same one that C.T. had often joked about Cass having a crush on.

No, there was definitely a dangerous aura surrounding him now. …This Terrance who was now known as _Sharkface_.

"Is it a crime to want to catch up with another _old_ friend?" The scarred brown-haired man asked snidely, "I've already seen Grif."

He glanced around at the bar before focusing back on Cass, his eyes lingering on the ring around her neck before taking in Andersmith watching him with a wary look.

Terrance smirked, "I'd heard you got a pretty good life for yourself here, Cass." He noted, almost fondly, "I'm glad for you."

Cass and Andersmith both exchanged nervous glances then, unsure of where this was going.

Terrence's expression hardened a second later, "But you might want to leave sooner rather than later. Take this handsome guy here and go. This is your only warning."

Andersmith stood up from the barstool he had been sitting on, "What do you—?!"

The rookie was cut off by a loud explosion outside, close to where the security gate for Chorus was. A mere second later, the power in the city suddenly went out completely.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I figured that was a good stopping point for the chapter before it got way too long.

Next up, a whole LOT of things get set into motion as Chorus becomes a battleground. I can't really say much more on that currently since there are a lot of things that occur and I still want to keep them a surprise, but hopefully the next few chapters will not disappoint as things start to heat up!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :D


	23. Chapter 20

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty:

They were walking further and further away from the warehouse, and Richard "Dick" Simmons wasn't quite sure _what_ was on Grif's mind. All he could really tell was that the genetically engineered man seemed unusually serious and silent, walking with purpose through the Chorus streets.

That alone was enough to inwardly freak the cyborg the fuck out. After all, whenever Dexter Grif acted determined without food as a visible goal, shit had to be pretty fucking bad. Eventually the redhead couldn't take the intense quiet anymore and stopped on an empty patch of sidewalk, causing Grif to stop with him.

"Hey, Grif, it's…it's nice weather today, don't you think?" Simmons started rambling nervously, not even bothering to notice by now that the sky had started to darken to nighttime, "Maybe a little cloudy for my tastes, but—!"

"Simmons." Grif cut the slightly younger man off from his rambling by just saying his name with an oddly urgent voice, the orange-armored soldier's usual apathetic tone completely gone.

Simmons shut up immediately, closing his mouth and waiting for Grif to say whatever was weighing so heavily on his mind. Seconds turned into minutes of uneasy silence. Simmons fidgeted nervously as Grif continued staring into the space behind the redhead with a tense frown across his usually relaxed features.

At long last, Grif finally spoke, though his dark eyes stayed focused on anything _but_ Simmons, "Do you ever wonder why we're here? Why we aren't fucking together yet?" he asked rather bluntly.

 _That_ question definitely caught Simmons off-guard. His face suddenly felt as though it were on fire. His heart, or the cybernetic equivalent thereof, skipped quite a few beats. The cyborg was trying to wrack his brain for something, _anything_ really, to say in response and failing miserably even though his inner-panic had resulted in what sounded like a shrill scream resounding in his brain.

Grif thankfully beat Simmons to the punch, his tan-skinned face looking rather red now too, "I think that…I probably love you, Simmons." He stated quietly, and Simmons found himself somewhat annoyed that Grif used his normal " _maverick_ " tone as if he was talking about his favorite snack cake.

Still, _what_ the chubby man said definitely gave Simmons pause. He was fairly certain his entire body was going to short-circuit right then and there. Though leave it to his brain, in its frantic goings-on of trying to figure out what to say, to latch on to one particular component of Grif's lazy-as-shit confession.

"Wait a minute, fat-ass." Simmons said as his eyes narrowed and his voice took on its usual incredulous high-pitch, "Fucking _probably_?"

"What?" Grif was finally staring directly at him, though he was looking as if Simmons might sprout two heads any second now.

"You said that you were _probably_ in love with me, asshole." Simmons couldn't help but elaborate now that his brain had focused on a tangent that wouldn't turn his whole being into mush, "What the fuck is up with that?"

Grif blinked at the question before a sudden shit-eating smile spread across his face, "Now I know I definitely love you, kiss-ass, because your whiny bitching just then wasn't nearly as annoying to me as it should have been."

Simmons was fairly certain his face must be as red a fire hydrant right now. He stood there with his mouth gaping open like a fish, trying to come up with something coherent to say and failing spectacularly: "Uh…"

"I just want to know how you feel now too, you dumb fucking nerd." Grif continued as he smirked with an oddly serious glint in his dark eyes.

Simmons was still drawing an unhelpful blank on what to say even though the cyborg logically knew he needed to respond. By this point, Simmons was seriously beginning to wonder if he was experiencing a stroke ( _was he fucking smelling toast?!_ ).

However, there was a voice in the back of his mind that was just screaming _"Fuck it!"_ over and over.

For once, Simmons decided to give in to that voice and just _show_ the fat-ass how he had felt for all these years. Simmons leaned forward into Grif's personal space, lips nearly brushing Grif's own…

When, suddenly, there was a loud explosion somewhere behind them just as Simmons' lips were about to make desperate contact.

The maroon-wearing soldier didn't even have time to register what was happening before the artificial lighting on the streets around them flickered off.

The last thing Simmons heard before he crashed to the ground was Grif calling out his name.

* * *

The bright energy from Lavernius Tucker's sword faded from view as he deactivated it. The dark-skinned man held up his free hand at the same time to prevent David Washington from charging at him again, the former Freelancer's combat knife still in hand.

"As much fun as you kicking my ass in the name of training is," Tucker started as soon as he had enough air in his lungs to do so, "It's getting pretty dark, dude. We have to go pick up Junior."

Washington relented wordlessly at the reminder that Tucker's son and the others were no doubt already waiting for them, holstering his blade as Tucker did the same with his sword's hilt.

"You've actually been keeping up rather well." Washington commented observationally, gray eyes glancing at the younger man.

Tucker snorted derisively as they began walking, "I'm not sure if that's what I'd call it."

"I'm being serious, Tucker." Wash fell in step next to him, "If you'd just apply yourself more seriously—!"

"I'd still be nowhere near your level, Wash." Tucker informed the blond matter-of-factly as he rolled his eyes. This was the beginning of a conversation that they'd had a million times before.

A sigh escaped Washington's lips as though he knew that he wouldn't be able to win the debate this time either thanks to Tucker's mile-wide stubborn streak.

Instead, he seemed to choose changing tactics entirely.

"Once we pick up Junior," he began, eyeing Tucker rather shyly, "Would you like to visit the cat colony together?"

Tucker paused before turning to stare at the former Freelancer carefully. The teal-armored soldier raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a damn word. Silence from Tucker was unnerving.

Washington fidgeted under his gaze, "I—I mean…I'm sure Junior would love it, and…"

The genetically-engineered man trailed off when Tucker flashed him a grin, "Fuck, yeah! That would be awesome, dude!" He stated enthusiastically, "Junior will flip his shit!"

Wash relaxed somewhat, smiling slightly, "You think so?" He asked, relieved to find that he wasn't being mocked just yet.

"Of course!" Tucker's grin widened, "He fucking loves cats. Thanks to you."

The blond-haired male's smile deepened at the comment. Washington looked as though he were about to say more when, suddenly, a loud explosion cut him off.

"What the fuck was that?!" Tucker demanded a second later, looking in the direction of the explosion. It was easy to spot since smoke was currently streaming from it. Tucker's expression turned serious as he realized just where the explosion had come from.

"The gate!" Washington stated the obvious a moment later, just as the power all around them flickered off.

In the looming darkness suddenly enshrouding Chorus, the two men looked towards each other and nodded grimly. Then they were off and running towards the warehouse.

As they rounded a corner, they nearly ran into Doc and Donut. It seemed their two friends appeared to share their thoughts and were heading towards the warehouse from a side street.

Washington had to actually grab a hold of Tucker's shoulder to prevent him from slamming into the pink-armored soldier in particular.

"Whoa!" Doc exclaimed, laughing nervously as he rubbed the back of his brown-haired head, "Fancy running into you guys here, huh?"

"That wasn't the good kind of _'rock my world_ ,'" Donut elaborated not a second later, "So we were just heading over to the warehouse to check on everyone."

Tucker nodded his head in understanding, "So were we." He told them urgently, "Junior's there!"

The teal-wearing man didn't have to mention that he was worried because his son was scared of the dark. It was no doubt already plainly written on his features despite the inky blackness surrounding them.

Washington, who was still gripping Tucker's shoulder from earlier, gave the younger man an encouraging squeeze before reluctantly dropping his hand to his side, "Let's hurry then." He said in his Freelancer-taking-charge tone of voice.

The other three men nodded as Doc vocalized: "Right! I've got the aloe vera!"

The group of four was off again, running through the darkened streets of Chorus on the familiar path to the warehouse. As they got closer to their destination, an unsettling feeling of nervousness and anxiety washed over Tucker.

"Hey now, fellas. What's the rush?" A familiar voice asked from the shadows to their right, causing the small group of four to stop in their tracks.

They turned to find Felix standing there with a group of his steel-armored mercenaries behind him, completely relaxed. The mercenary in steel-and-orange armor was tossing his knife into the air and catching it by the hilt almost playfully.

Tucker took a step forward, gesturing all around them at the suffocating lack of light in Chorus, "Can't you fucking tell what's going on?"

Felix caught the hilt of his knife once more and laughed, "Oh, _this_?" He glanced over at the darkened cloud of smoke coming from the gate further away, "All of this is to be expected."

Before anyone could react, the brown-haired man raced forward…and Tucker felt an incredibly sharp, _burning_ pain in his left side. He glanced down at the knife that was protruding there, his body suddenly going weak.

Felix smirked as he pulled the knife out, resulting in a whole new burst of agony in the dark-skinned man's side. The mercenary grabbed the hilt of Tucker's alien sword, pulling it back with him as he did so.

"Don't worry, Tucker," Felix stated patronizingly, "I'll take good care of this _and_ your kid."

Tucker felt himself sink towards the ground as blood dripped from his side. His legs buckled just as he heard what sounded like an animalistic _growl_ come from behind him.

The last things Tucker saw before falling unconscious were Doc and Donut looming over him worriedly, and a thoroughly _pissed off_ -looking Agent Washington charging at Felix.

* * *

It was, in all reality, probably a good thing that the lieutenants had been making their way over to Cass' tavern when the blackout occurred. Not that Antoine Bitters would ever admit that, especially when he knew that their initial purpose for doing so had been to spy on Andersmith's " _date_."

In fact, as they had been making their way towards the tavern, Bitters had let out a long-suffering sigh as the dark-skinned man wondered just how he had gotten dragged into this mess.

That was when they all heard it: the loud, distinctive _"bang!"_ of a gunshot directly after the explosion that resulted in the power going out all over Chorus.

The gunshot had been very close to Cass' restaurant.

The others tensed at the noise, and Bitters couldn't help but do so as well. First an explosion at the gate, then the power going off and now _gunfire_?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthews staring at him fearfully, questioningly. Bitters couldn't help but nod his multi-colored haired head in response towards the yellow-trimmed lieutenant, not realizing that the rest of the rookies had also glanced his way as well for some kind of affirmation.

That little action was all it took to get the group racing to the tavern, the old-fashioned door still swinging open as if someone had left in a hurry. Bitters registered the sight as odd in the back of his mind, but his training as both a genetically engineered soldier and a lieutenant here in Chorus kicked in before he could really investigate who had left the building they were currently entering.

"Miss Cass?" Palomo, surprisingly serious, called out into the space beyond, "Andersmith?"

"We're here!" The brunette's voice called back a second later, frantic, "Help! He's been shot!"

Bitters raced inside the tavern proper with the others hot on his heels, stopping only to gauge the situation that he found as Palomo ran towards their friends. Cass was on the floor by the bar with a slumped over Andersmith cradled in her lap, a pool of blood from the gunshot wound in his side congealing all around them.

The woman glanced up at them, frightened but evidently thankful for their presence all the same. Bitters could see that her clothes were covered in blood, no doubt splatter from Andersmith's wound.

Jensen gasped from her spot standing next to Matthews near the entrance, the two youngest rookies shell-shocked at the sight of their comrade injured.

Volleyball and Kai began moving forward to help assist Cass with Andersmith since they both had First Aid training, both were silent and serious given the situation.

The environment's silence didn't last. Footsteps behind the group indicated that they were no longer alone in the tavern.

Bitters swore under his breath as he spun around just in time to see the doorway being blocked by both mercenaries _and_ members of the Insurrection, their weapons drawn and pointed into the building.

One of them, a mercenary Bitters vaguely recalled being named Zachary Miller, smirked at the group of young soldiers, "I'd drop any weapons you have and come along quietly," he informed them rather haughtily, "If you don't want this place covered in even _more_ blood, that is."

* * *

"I see." Santa shook his head as he listened to Vanessa Kimball's most recent report on the power outages affecting the region, "That is most peculiar."

"Any idea what could be causing them?" Carolina asked, raising a red eyebrow in the alien Artificial Intelligence's direction.

They were in Kimball's office, discussing the matter away from any prying eyes. After all, Carolina was still unsure of the trustworthiness of Hargrove or the mercenaries under Felix and Locus' command.

To top it all off, evidently things had somehow deteriorated once again between Kimball and Doyle. Though, to be honest, Carolina was still uncertain as to what the problem actually was between the two co-leaders of Chorus this time.

Santa flickered as he turned his attention to the cyan-armored former Freelancer, "Unfortunately, I cannot say for certain." He informed her regrettably.

The redhead sighed, glancing over at the dark-skinned woman in the room with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "Well, it was worth a shot."

Kimball frowned and nodded her head in agreement, "Yes, well—"

The genetically engineered woman was cut off, however, by a large booming sound from further away in Chorus. The lights then flickered off as the computers in the office went completely dead.

Before either woman or Santa could react, several armed men entered the room. The office's assailants wore armor that belonged to both the mercenaries and the Insurrectionists, their guns drawn on the two humans inside.

Carolina froze when a familiar figure walked past the armed men. The newcomer was a dark-skinned man and, as he walked into the room with his hands placed calmly behind his back, he glanced at her with more than just passing familiarity in his eyes.

"Ah, Agent Carolina," Aiden Price stated in that same eerily calm voice that she remembered from Project Freelancer, "It's so good to see you again. Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Counselor." Her throat was dry, "I'm afraid I can't say the same."

"Yes, well, I suppose that's only understandable." Price inclined his head in the direction of the floating Santa, "We're here for the alien Artificial Intelligence." He informed her, his tone still the same falsely amicable one she remembered from the past, "Please, there's no need to make this difficult."

Carolina clenched her fists at her sides, exchanging a look with Kimball. She was about to respond to Price's remark when the office door opened once again, revealing Locus and Donald Doyle standing there.

Surprisingly, Doyle had his alien relic sword drawn, "We're…we're here to help, ladies!"

The older man was not, evidently, expecting Locus to suddenly stab him from behind. The utter look of shock on his face was horrifying.

"Doyle!" Kimball shouted as he sank to the ground, blood seeping from the wound at his side.

Carolina grabbed Kimball's arm to keep her from running over to Doyle, fearful that any sudden movement on their end might result in a violent reaction.

Damn it. They were too fucking vulnerable here. The Freelancer could hear Church in the back of her mind, telling her to calm down and focus (" _Fucking use your head, Carolina!_ "). Still, the Freelancer cursed inwardly, hating inaction and feeling weak.

The steel and green-armored mercenary grabbed the alien relic from Doyle's suddenly limp hand, the blade deactivating the second it was no longer in contact with the co-leader of Chorus' fingertips. Carolina gritted her teeth as she felt Kimball stiffen at the sight.

"We're moving on to Phase Two." Locus stated without any emotion in his voice whatsoever a second later, stepping over Doyle's limp form to address Price and the group of armed assailants.

* * *

Dexter Grif was close to panicking as he dragged Simmons' unconscious body in the direction of the warehouse. Unfortunately, it was slow going due to how unresponsive Simmons was. Not to mention the stiff heaviness of the lanky man's cybernetic limbs.

Fuck it, the orange-armored soldier was the first to admit he was out of shape. But, when the cyborg woke up, Grif was going to give him hell for all of the fat-ass comments.

At least Simmons wasn't dragging Grif's dead weight around that often, although there may have been one or two or ten drunken nights where that may have been the case. The nerdy redhead was the only one keeping count, and Simmons would at least have his freakish cyborg strength to help in those not-so-rare instances.

But, fucking still! Simmons better appreciate all the effort Grif was making currently.

Of course, all this had to happen because of a freaking wide scale power outage. One that just _had_ to occur right as Grif and Simmons were starting a fucking serious conversation!

Grif huffed, all thoughts of bitching pushed aside when he glanced down worriedly at Simmons' pale face. The chubby man knew that whatever had been about to happen before wasn't nearly as important as getting the kiss-ass some help now.

" _Simmons_?" A familiar voice suddenly called out from close by in the darkness, " _Grif_?"

Oh, fucking great. Malcolm Hargrove was here too. This night just couldn't get any better. Grif was seriously about to curse his apparently non-existent luck.

The old man hurried over, stumbling a bit in the dark as he surprisingly tried helping Grif by slinging Simmons' human arm across his own shoulders, "I was just heading to the warehouse myself when I saw you two."

"Uh-huh. Great." Grif said in response, although he really wasn't paying too much attention to the old businessman.

Rather, he was focused more on the familiar weight of _Simmons_ draped across his shoulders. Grif's dark eyes searched the cyborg's unconscious and rather pained face in the darkness. He hurried his steps even more with Hargrove's added assistance.

"It's good that you're heading there, as I believe Sarge and Doctor Grey should be standing by." Hargrove continued with effort, "It's best we hurry if we want to help Simmons."

Grif couldn't help but scoff slightly, his grip on Simmons' side tightening. As if he needed to be told that, especially given the fucking situation they were in.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Things are definitely starting to get more and more intense now! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :)


	24. Prelude for Losers? (3): Church

_**Prelude for Losers?**_ : **Church**

 _Find out what happened before the events of_ When We Were Soldiers _in the_ Prelude for Losers? _specials!_

 _In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus._

 _The third story is Church's._

 _Main Pairing(s): Chex, Sheila x Lopez, Docnut, Grimmons, Tuckington_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

 _Prelude for Losers?_ — Church:

 _The sounds of fighting filled the corridors. The noise reverberated through the halls, heavy and explosive-filled. Epsilon stood in the medical bay's doorway, his head pounding along with the erratic thudding of his heart and lungs._

 _He was panicking, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. The instant that the death knells for this fucked up project of his father's had begun, Epsilon had felt as though he were drowning and falling all at once. Like he'd be crushed under the weight of it all too._

… _Which would definitely happen, especially if he didn't start moving his fucking ass like_ yesterday _._

 _That one thought alone compelled his sluggish body into action. Self-preservation became a motivational factor, one that moved Epsilon's ass into the hallway._

 _The sounds of fighting faded into the distance, getting fewer and farther in-between with each heavy footstep. Looking around him, Epsilon could see just_ why _that was._

 _There were bodies in the hallway, too numerous to count. Epsilon couldn't bring himself to look too closely down at any of them because he_ knew _. He just_ knew _that his genetically engineered batch "siblings" and his naturally born sister's comrades were among the number of bodies littering the area._

 _Somehow, out of all the oddly named Fragments, Epsilon_ knew _that he was the last. Lucky him, he guessed._

… _A "way to bring an ongoing, who-knows-how-long-it's-been-going-on pointless war to a swift and decisive end" his_ ass _._

 _Dimly, his brain unhelpfully informed him that there was no sign of cyan or black in the quick glances of his surroundings that he allowed himself. Epsilon knew that Washington had been taken to recovery somewhere outside of the facility after Epsilon had freaked out and nearly killed both of them._

 _He felt a pang of guilt about what had happened with Washington, the unfamiliar feeling gnawing in the back of his mind. Epsilon wanted to say it hadn't been his fault even though he knew that was bullshit. The truth was, he had remembered something from Alpha and he'd just_ panicked _. Washington had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A victim, like so many people in this world._

 _Of course, that incident was the reason why Epsilon had been in the med bay for observation in the first place, and it also happened to coincide with when shit had started to hit the fan._

 _In a way, some of them had been lucky. Washington was still likely alive thanks to that relocation, and the sounds of distant fighting probably meant that Tex and Carolina were too._

 _So, there. Epsilon guessed that there was_ some _glimmer of hope or whatever type of bullshit people liked to talk about to keep them going. He could understand that, seeing as how he had had his own coping mechanism to keep pushing forward._

 _A while ago, Tex had told him to leave the second that he was able to, to not look back. He fucking didn't need to be told twice._

Leonard Church blinked open blue eyes to stare up at the merciless stars above. His head currently hurt from the fucking hangover he was bound to experience well into tomorrow.

That was to be expected considering how Church now spent his days since his escape, wandering from region to region as cheaply as he could. Whenever he had the credits for it, he'd get plastered at some dive bar. Naturally.

The cyborg groaned and realized that he must have passed out outside again. Fucking figured. Church tried not to puke as he rolled over onto his side on the cold, hard ground.

As far as he was concerned, fucking memories could go fuck themselves.

* * *

Church's self-destructive habits continued for months afterwards. They probably would have continued even longer if life hadn't interfered in that fucking nasty habit it tends to have. One day, he found himself in a bar in some dingy town that he couldn't even bother to remember the name of. That's when _it_ happened, when his vagabond solitary exile lifestyle came to a sudden end.

On that seemingly normal day, Church was sitting at the counter mentally preparing himself to chug back his last remaining credits. It was always his hope that he could ignore things for yet another day if he stuck to what he considered his normal routine. Church had been designed to store memory thanks to the neural cybernetics he carried with him, so ignoring shit was sort of hard to do. Not that _that_ kept him from fucking trying.

He had been just about to order when a group of soldiers or mercs or who-the-fuck-cares had started picking on a tall, blond-haired boy wearing blue. The bullied victim had evidently glanced at the assholes "f _unny_ " while cradling a gun in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Church surmised that the poor kid had simply wandered into the dive by accident. Unlike Church, he doubted the kid had meant to be at the bar at all.

So, basically, the kid was being picked on by a group of power hungry bullies. Real fucking original. Church tried his hardest to fucking ignore what was going on, but it was hard when it was only five fucking feet away.

"I do not understand the question." The blond stated blankly in response to whatever insult one of the bullies had just said about his hypothetical mother.

 _That_ only got the assholes angrier. Naturally, they apparently decided to settle things with their fists. Real fucking original, these assholes. Ignorance was apparently not bliss in this situation.

Church really didn't want any _more_ blood on his shoes or anything else that might kill the pretty good buzz he was just now starting to get. He reluctantly got up from the counter to say something to the jerks, even though he knew he'd likely make things a whole lot worse before everything was said and done. He was good at running away and avoidance, not at combat.

Of course, that was right about the time when the younger boy's gun decided to apparently speak up instead.

"HOSTILES IDENTIFIED." A surprisingly loud electronic voice spoke from the weapon, "READYING SUPPRESSION FIRE."

…A few well-aimed warning shots later, and Church and the blond were the only ones still in the now hole-filled bar. Even the bartender had disappeared through the back at the sight of the shooting, talking gun.

"Oh, hello." The young man in blue turned around to greet the still gaping cyborg, "Are you my new best friend?"

* * *

The young man's name was Michael J. Caboose. Like Church, he was a genetically engineered man created for the war.

Caboose didn't talk a lot about his past beyond that his batch " _siblings_ " were comprised of a whole _lot_ of sisters, and that he was apparently left to fend for himself after one too many _"friendly fire"_ accidents. Although, in retelling, Caboose alternated from saying those friendly fire incidents were just games to being no way his fault whatsoever.

Truthfully, Church had wanted to get rid of Caboose as fast as he could. Having another person around kind of cramped his " _wanting to be left the hell alone_ " lifestyle. But, for some inexplicable reason, Caboose seemed to oddly _like_ him.

Following the declaration that Church was his best human friend, Caboose insisted on going wherever Church went. The blond insisted that his sentient weapon, Freckles, was his best gun friend…which, naturally, pissed Church off since he was playing second fiddle to a fucking gun.

At first, Church was vehemently annoyed by the forced company. But, he didn't have it in him to really kick the kid to the curb, as much as he was often tempted to do so. Where the fuck else would a genetically engineered soldier go once they had been forcefully removed from their batch? It wasn't like there were a shit ton of options for people like Church and Caboose.

…Church stopped drinking too. The dark-haired man wasn't quite sure if the two were related or not, but when he was being pestered by Caboose, he found himself thinking less and less of those days with the project.

* * *

Caboose, as it turned out, had a habit of finding rather sentient machines all on his own whenever he would wander off. Church was amazed at how freaking natural it seemed to come to the blond. Dumb luck in the truest sense of the term.

This natural habit of Caboose's was evidently how he had found Freckles. Church had only heard that story about fifty fucking times during their travels. _Now_ , apparently, this Caboose talent was going to bite Church in the ass.

"Goddamn it, Caboose!" The cobalt-wearing man couldn't help but exclaim in exasperation, "I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and—!"

"This is Church." Caboose ignored Church's rant to address the rather feminine-looking robot in gunmetal green armor standing next to him, "He yells a lot, but he is nice!"

Church sighed, knowing he wasn't going to win this fight when Caboose was already fucking introducing him to who was obviously going to become the newest member of their traveling party. Did Church ever get a say in what was going on in his fucking life?

"Hello. It's nice to meet you." The robot said in a voice that was painfully familiar to the Virtual Intelligence of Project Freelancer, and Church absently wondered if they weren't somehow related.

"Yeah. Great." He rolled his blue eyes, already knowing the drill, "So, what should we call you?"

"My name is Sheila."

* * *

The motely party of four, which consisted of two genetically engineered humans and two Virtual Intelligences, traveled without any real destination in mind for quite a while. They simply avoided going to regions with a lot of fighting, which suited Church perfectly. Avoiding shit was exactly what he wanted to do.

Oddly enough, Church found Sheila's presence to be surprisingly tolerable. Her polite mannerisms balanced out Caboose's more annoying tendencies as well as Freckles' _"shooting"_ ones.

Honestly, he preferred having the others around to drinking himself all alone into a stupor. It was oddly comforting in a way to focus more on keeping their little group together and safe than reliving old nightmares and regrets. …Not that Church would have ever told those assholes that out loud. He had a fucking reputation to uphold, after all.

Eventually, their party made their way to a dump of a town called Blood Gulch. It was there that they ran into a red-armored soldier named Sarge, an older man who seemed to be in the habit of collecting strays from the ongoing Red and Blue conflict and giving them a home of sorts.

Sarge had some questionable behaviors like sleeping with his shotgun and insisting that " _Red was better than that damn dirty Blue_!" There was no doubt in the cyborg's mind that Sarge was insane, but Church recognized that the older soldier read situations better than he was often given credit for. Church figured tagging along with someone who actually knew what they were doing would help them stay alive longer, so the four merged into the odd, mismatched family that Sarge had put together.

There was Doc, a medic-in-training whose " _take no sides_ " mentality drove Church up the fucking wall more often than not, as did the glasses-wearing pacifist's tendency to describe orange juice as a cure-all for just about everything.

Next was Donut, a cheerful, exuberant orphan in pink. Church actually couldn't bring himself to hate Donut too much, although he definitely wasn't in love with the dirty-blond's innuendos and tendency to break into song-and-dance numbers at the drop of a hat. If anything, Church simply questioned Donut's judgement since he was often hanging around Doc (who seemed to have a bit of a crush on Donut that the pink-wearing young man seemed oblivious towards) or Caboose.

After Donut there was Simmons, a redheaded suck-up extraordinaire and a nerd of the highest order. Church found the anxiety-ridden man frustrating, although the two did bond a bit over loving coffee.

Lopez was a robot that Sarge had built out of spare parts. The brown-armored robot only spoke Spanish, though Lopez and Sheila hit it off really well for some reason that Church couldn't figure out. He tried not to think too much about York and Carolina when he saw the two robots huddled closely together.

Finally, there was Tucker. The dark-skinned man was an asshole who liked to talk big, but he was also okay too. Church and Tucker ended up getting along fairly well, much to Caboose's chagrin. The blond had developed something of a one-sided rivalry with the teal-wearing Tucker.

…Sarge's group really was like a family, and Church _maybe_ wasn't as miserable as he liked to claim to be all the time when he was around them. But, still, being with them made him miss his own family more than he'd care to admit.

* * *

His sister and Tex had somehow managed to track Church and the others down in Blood Gulch despite how off the beaten path Sarge liked to traverse. When they first found the group, both women stood in front of them—intimidating as fuck.

Church almost thought Simmons was going to piss his pants out of fear for being around females, and Tucker seemed to be mentally debating if flirting was worth the obvious physical repercussion.

Carolina in particular looked like she had gone through hell, as if she couldn't let her guard down even in an obvious safe place.

Honestly. Church wasn't sure what was more shocking: the fact that Tex and Carolina had even bothered to track him down at all, or the fact that they had obviously done so _together_. He truthfully would have thought the two women would have ditched each other the second they could. …That, or they would have killed one another.

"Church." Carolina's voice was hoarse when she spoke and he couldn't help but wonder when the last time she'd even drank something was.

The redhead took a step forward and reached out as though she wanted to touch him, to make sure that her brother was real. She hesitated, however, awkwardly holding back. Carolina never was good at the touchy-feely shit. Must be a family trait.

Truthfully, he was just glad to know she was still _there_.

" _Screw it._ " Church thought a second before he was hugging her: "Just shut the fuck up for now, okay?" He said as she returned the gesture not a moment later.

Tex watched the display for a moment, a slight sort-of smile curving her lips upward before she turned to leave.

Church broke away from his surprisingly understanding-in-this-moment older sibling to chase after the black-armored redhead. It always seemed that one of them had to be in pursuit of the other. That was just how things had always been between them.

"It wouldn't kill you to fucking stay for a while, you know." He said as nonchalantly as he could while struggling for breath next to her. Goddamn it, Tex was fast when she wanted to be.

"I didn't want to mess up the reunion." She joked, and Church realized just how much he had really missed her too.

Before he could even think of how to respond, Tex leaned forward and kissed him.

In that moment, Church couldn't even tell up from down. Fucking bitch always knew how to get him to shut up.

* * *

Sarge continued to get new additions to his group. A few months after Tex and Carolina had found them, a new guy named Grif came to Blood Gulch with his little sister, Kaikaina.

The orange-wearing Grif preferred eating and napping to talking about his past, so all Church really knew about the Grif siblings was that they were genetically engineered and had been kicked out of their batch for supposed imperfections. It seemed that, like Church, Grif had decided that Sarge's offer could at least help protect his sister.

…Oh, and the only other thing Church knew about Grif was that, for one bullshit reason or another, he and Simmons did _not_ get along. _At all_.

The two were constantly yelling at each other day in and day out in such a way that Church was starting to get Caboose-level migraines whenever he simply overheard them. And, yet, there was something _intangible_ about the way they interacted, and in the secretive glances that they both threw to the other when they thought that no one was looking.

Church noticed it one time after Grif had called Simmons a " _fucking kiss-ass_ " for the umpteenth time. The cyborg, narrowing blue eyes in annoyance at their usual antics, watched as Grif and Simmons had stormed off to opposite sides of the barracks.

Simmons, very red-faced and flustered, mumbled a " _fat-ass_ " under his breath as he walked past Church. But, his green eyes were almost feverish when he risked a glance back over his shoulder at Grif. Grif, meanwhile, had an undefinable, intense stare when he turned slightly to regard Simmons again.

The two quickly acted as though they hadn't just been caught staring at the other a second later as they went about their business.

Church raised a dark-haired eyebrow at the exchange. The nerd and lazy-ass weren't particularly subtle, although they might be moronic enough to not see what he saw.

He felt a headache looming behind his temples. Shit like this reminded him that people are stupid assholes.

…Although, for some reason, witnessing that exchange between Grif and Simmons had made Church want to find Tex.

The red-haired woman stared at Church like he was the one who was an idiot after he ( _foolishly, in hindsight_ ), told her why he had sought her out in that particular moment.

However, a smirk crossed over Tex's face a minute later: "Want to put some money down on when they'll finally get together?"

* * *

Washington, as it turned out, _was_ alive. Church found that out because, somehow, Washington and Tucker had managed to meet after Tucker disappeared during a rather bizarre mission with an alien relic.

What was even more surprising was that, when the two men showed up at the barracks, Tucker had a _baby_ with glowing teal lines in tow. Church wasn't sure _how_ to wrap his head around that one, and Tucker kept his mouth tightly shut on the matter.

While Church's eye would twitch uncontrollably whenever he thought about that whole alien relic situation, he was slightly relieved to see Washington and Tucker show up in Blood Gulch all the same. …Not that he'd ever fucking saying that out loud, of course. He had to maintain his aloof prick mantle.

Truthfully, it was mostly just awkward for him to see Washington again. Not to mention it was pretty fucking awkward for Washington too, but Washington seemed to relax somewhat at Carolina and Tex's presence in Blood Gulch.

So long as they didn't discuss the "incident" overly much, Washington and Church seemed to be fine. Or they were getting there, at least.

Washington was adamant about staying with the group, which was surprising since he had become the type of person who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't seem to really get the whole " _being part of a team_ " thing again.

However, Church suspected Washington's decision had to do with the fond expression that crossed over the blond's face whenever he was with Tucker and Junior.

Caboose, Sheila, and Freckles were still there in Blood Gulch too, as was everyone else. Even Carolina had apparently decided to stay put to ensure that her brother had a somewhat happy life for once.

Thankfully, Grif and Simmons had now become friends with one another, though the tension between them had only skyrocketed to the point where Church was halfway tempted to just lock the two dumbasses in a room together to get things over with.

Church and Tex had broken up more times than he could count while they resided in Blood Gulch, but they were more often than not together. Truthfully, he had always simply liked having her close by, though the sex was definitely fucking awesome too.

Church still had nightmares from time to time while in Blood Gulch. But, Tex would comfort him when they were in bed together until he could once more fall asleep, arms wrapped around her gratefully.

Sometimes he'd talk to Carolina about her own nightmares, and Church had come close to daring to breach the subject with Washington too. Most of the time though, one or more of the others would do something dumb and that would distract him from the past.

He might not say it much at all, or more likely _ever_ , but Church couldn't be more fucking grateful for the annoying assholes in his life.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Here we have Church's prequel story! :) Hopefully, it was an enjoyable read that helped shed a bit more light on a few of the characters' histories in this story-verse.

I should note that not every character is going to be getting a prequel story of their own, as a lot of them are covered in other individual's prequels (such as Caboose, Freckles, and Sheila in this one). That's the only way I'd be able to finish the prequels here considering that the cast is quite huge! XD Still, I hope that I will give everyone, even the characters that don't get their own personal prequel story, a bit of attention in the prequels to make up for that.

Next up in _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Washington and Tucker's turn. Yep, they'll be featured in their own story together! :D

Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	25. Chapter 21

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-One:

Frank "Doc" DuFresne was staunchly against all forms of violence, but even the pacifist had to admit that the fight between Felix and Washington was something to behold. It was almost akin to a dance as, more often than not, both men weaved in and out of the other's way. Even Felix's other mercenary cohorts were holding back to watch how things progressed.

Felix moved with a carefree gait, expending energy only when absolutely necessary by deflecting Washington. The steel-and-orange freelancer's overall posture and energy reminded Doc far too much of a cat playing with its prey.

Washington, on the other hand, was attacking with the ferocity of a wild, wounded animal. It was as if seeing Felix stab Tucker had caused him to snap, to lose all sense of self in a berserk rage. Doc had the impression that if Washington ever managed to get his hands on Felix, the genetically engineered man would tear him limb from limb with his bare hands.

Tucker! Thinking of the teal-armored soldier, Doc chastised himself for forgetting that he had a patient who urgently needed his attention.

The medic looked towards the wounded man. Lavernius Tucker's face was ashen, and he had lost consciousness not too long ago. The blood that still gushed from his injury an obvious issue that needed to be dealt with.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Doc heard himself say to a very shaken up Franklin Delano Donut, somewhat surprised at how calm he sounded, "And I didn't even think to bring any aloe vera today!"

Donut blinked, looking down at Tucker's prone form with impossibly wide, brown eyes. His entire body shook as he bent down to help Doc apply pressure to the wound. The dirty blond gulped, and the purple-wearing medic could see the telltale signs of tears begin to well up in the younger man's eyes.

"Donut." Doc spoke both gently and earnestly, desperate on the inside for the pink-armored man to hear him, "Everyone is going to be fine."

A sniffle escaped Donut, but he stared at Doc's reassuring smile as if seeing the other man truly for the first time then and there. He gave a brief nod of confirmation then, returning Doc's gesture with a shaky smile of his own.

Doc glanced around their surroundings, brown eyes lighting up at the sight of a building that he knew was still abandoned thanks to the Chorus rebuilding effort. If they could get Tucker away from the fighting, it would be easier to treat him…

Donut picked up quite readily on Doc's glance towards the nearby building. Fortunately, the mercenaries were too wrapped up in watching the fight between Washington and Felix to pay them any mind.

As it were, Doc and Donut made their way over to the building rather easily with Tucker hanging limply in-between them. The door opened without any fuss, and the space inside was relatively empty save for a few shelves off to the sides. Doc couldn't help but notice it was filthy. Truly, the amount of dust inside was hardly hygienic and he wanted nothing more than to Swiffer the hell out of it, but in situations like this beggars really couldn't be choosers.

The two placed Tucker on the ground, Doc for once in his life grateful for an absence of windows even though he inwardly missed the natural light. Still, without windows the brown-haired man could focus his attention on Tucker without worry of being easily spotted. Hopefully, their getting to a hiding spot would help Washington focus more.

Doc went to work quickly, Donut hovering over him nervously. After a few tense minutes, he wiped a blood-stained hand over his sweaty brow, "He's stabilized. For now. I don't have any orange juice to give him though."

Donut let out a sigh of relief, "Good."

Doc took a few deep breaths in and stood up on shaky feet, somewhat surprised to see Donut standing in front of the now opened door.

"Donut?" The medic finally questioned, frowning as a sudden apprehensiveness shot through his core.

Donut didn't even look over his shoulder, "You stay here with Tucker, Doc." He told him quietly, "I'm going to go back and help Washington."

"But that's…!" Doc stepped forward, reaching out for Donut's shoulder.

The dirty blond turned around then, a fond smile crossing over his features as he regarded the medic, "You're the one who said we'd all be okay, remember?" He reminded the purple-wearing man gently. Doc tried to protest, but Donut silenced him with an emphatic shake of his head, "Right now, I want to protect everyone. You too."

Donut slipped through the open doorway just as Doc raced towards it, the heavy metal door closing shut in his face. Doc pounded on it as he heard the lock clicking into place from the outside, followed by the sound of Donut's footsteps as they retreated away.

* * *

Despite Felix's initial ease during the beginning of the battle, David Washington's dogged determination and outright ferocity were steadily gaining him the upper hand. The blond felt like he had to keep pressing his advantage, had to keep moving forward.

Otherwise, his mind would too quickly delve into the raw panic and pain that he experienced whenever he let his guard down. His thoughts would then lead back to _Tucker_ bleeding on the ground and…

And he wanted to _kill_ Felix.

One of Washington's punches collided with a satisfying crunch to the side of Felix's face, and he saw the mercenary spin backwards in an attempt to keep his balance.

Felix growled in aggravation, "Enough of this fucking bullshit!"

From within the compartments of his armor, the brown-haired Freelancer produced the all-too familiar sight of a flash grenade. Washington _barely_ covered his eyes with his arm as the thing went off in the air.

Unfortunately, the action left the blond open enough for Felix's kick to connect. Washington crashed to the ground rather painfully.

"Heh." Felix spat out blood onto the ground as he smugly observed Washington, "Be glad that my employer wants you alive."

Washington grimaced as he thought of Tucker, of Junior, of the others, and…

" _Fire in the hole!"_

Donut's exclamation came not a second before a round object was thrown at Felix's feet.

"What the—?!" The mercenary exclaimed, barely having time to dodge before the grenade went off.

Donut was surprisingly quick. The pink-armored man was already by Washington's side and helping him get back up on his feet.

"Hey, Felix!" He called out cheerfully, "You're not the only one who's good at tossing!"

"Never utter those words again. Please." Washington managed to mumble under his breath to the younger soldier.

"That was unexpected." Felix said as he lowered his hands. There was definitely anger radiating off of his body at Donut's unaccounted for intrusion into his and Washington's fight, "But, as much as I'd _love_ to end you both here, I'm afraid we just don't have the time."

Felix, along with his compatriots, moved then to reveal even _more_ mercenaries behind them. The major difference was that these mercenaries had the haggard-looking lieutenants minus Andersmith in tow and at gunpoint. The younger soldiers were all handcuffed and very much looked the worse for wear.

"Captain Washington! Captain Donut!" Katie Jensen exclaimed, a gash above her right eyebrow.

"We're—we're sorry, sirs." Her brother Matthews stated a second later, the other rookies looking just as sullen and downcast.

"I'd give up now if I were you." Felix sneered, "Unless you want more than just Tucker's blood on the ground."

Washington could have killed the mercenary for that comment, but instead he shared a look with Donut. The two soldiers gave a slight nod to one another right before Donut dropped the grenade he'd been holding without pulling its pin.

They couldn't risk the safety of the lieutenants.

"That's better." Felix mocked, walking over to them, "But here's a little something from me to you."

With that, the mercenary punched Donut as hard as he could. The pink-wearing man went crashing to the ground with a sick-sounding thud. Washington turned to react right when Felix did the same to him.

Everything went black.

* * *

"This way, Church," Doctor Emily Grey's voice was gentle but insistent, "Watch your step."

Leonard Church couldn't help but groan through the incessant, sharp pain battering his skull as they made their way through an escape tunnel that _definitely_ had not been on any of the warehouse blueprints that he had ever seen.

…Which meant it was another of Sarge's oh-so-helpful " _modifications_ " that the red-armored man neglected to tell the others about until a surprise like the power going out _right before_ the warehouse was stormed by heavily armed Insurrection assholes and mercenaries occurred.

Church supposed it was something of a miracle that Doctor Grey and Sarge had found him in the hallway when they had, and that they had pulled him into this secret tunnel just as the first of the enemy combatants reared their ugly, helmeted heads.

There had been far too many for them to take on all at once, and Church knew that even if he _had_ been in any condition to fight, it wasn't as if his aim would be super-helpful to them.

Personally, the dark-haired man was impressed that the trigger-happy Sarge hadn't decided that he'd go out in a blaze of glory. Church tried not to think of the others in Chorus who were probably less fortunate.

"It still feels off to not even fire a warning shot from my shotgun at those no-good infiltrators!" Sarge said from Church's other side as the two crazy people supported the cobalt-wearing man between them.

"Sometimes discretion _is_ the better part of valor, dear." Grey reminded the older man gently.

"True enough," Sarge admitted after what appeared to be careful consideration, "Especially when we can regroup later to take glorious revenge on our enemies!"

Well, that was _one_ way to spot a silver lining in this shit-fest they had tumbled into.

"That's the spirit!" Doctor Grey stated far too enthusiastically for Church's comfort.

There was silence for a good long while after that. Church's vision was a blurry mess every time he opened his eyes, but he had not doubt that the two were shooting each other a fond look over his head. His urge to vomit suddenly increased tenfold.

"Still, who would have guessed that you had an escape tunnel all the way out of Chorus?" Grey said conversationally a few minutes later, a tone of awe in her voice.

Sarge's smirk was apparent when he spoke next, "It's always wise to be prepared, darlin'."

Church groaned as they continued on their way, "Really? Here I thought it was just your delusional paranoia."

"Son, there's hardly a difference in this day and age." Sarge told him matter-of-factly.

…For once, Church really couldn't think of an argument.

* * *

Carolina had been busy keeping the _pirates_ , for that was what she no doubt knew them to truly be now, at bay. Although now it seemed that most of them, along with Aiden Price, had decided their best course of action was to simply let Locus deal with her as they held back. No doubt they were largely inspired to do so thanks to the five-or-so unconscious compatriots of theirs who had attempted before to overwhelm her with their numbers.

Carolina felt a small trill of satisfaction at that outcome, though she was hardly in a position to really dwell on it. After all, Locus was a more than capable opponent.

She needed to focus on him as well as figure out how to deal with the others if _any_ of them had a chance at surviving.

Santa had wisely disappeared the second that the pirates had shown up, which meant one less thing for her to worry about at the moment. Meanwhile, Vanessa Kimball had managed to get to Donald Doyle.

The dark-skinned woman had even dragged the bleeding man behind her desk where she could hopefully help address his wound better. The desk also provided cover should the pirates decide to open fire, though they seemed hesitant to do so currently.

…Which probably meant that they wanted to take them alive. For _what_ purpose exactly, Carolina couldn't say. She wasn't exactly in the mood to find out either.

The blows the cyan-armored woman traded with Locus were fairly even. While the mercenary had more power to his strikes due to his stature, she had the advantage of speed. So, everything seemed to balance out.

She could hear York murmuring " _You're damned if you do, damned if you don't._ " in the back of her mind and she had to remind herself to focus on the here-and-now.

Truthfully, she seemed to have the upper hand in their fight as she pushed Locus closer towards his cohorts on the other side of the office with every precisely made strike. That was, until a gleam of bloodied metal came into play.

Carolina cursed at herself for having forgotten about Locus' weapon just as the blade found its way into a weak point on the armor of her left leg. The redhead let out an exclamation of pain as the burning sensation intensified when Locus pulled the knife out, dropping to her knees on the floor.

"Carolina!" Kimball shouted as she stood up behind the desk, gun aimed at Locus' helmeted head.

A dozen or so guns were suddenly trained on the co-leader of Chorus. Carolina once again cursed at the turn of events as she felt blood flow down her leg, dripping on the office floor. She'd never reach Kimball in time with this injury.

"Give up." Locus stated plainly as Carolina glared up at him with gritted teeth.

Price stepped forward from behind the armed mercenaries and Insurrectionists just then, "Please, there is no need for this violence to continue."

" _It's a little too late for that, don't you think?_ Counselor? _"_ A booming voice stated from what sounded like some sort of intercom, though that should have been _impossible_ given the current state of Chorus.

The statement was followed a moment later by the roar of what sounded distinctly like the engines of an air transport filling the air. Carolina, despite the pain lancing through her leg, barely had time to jump back closer to the desk for cover as said transport actually _crashed_ through the office wall nearby with a whine of tearing metal and a loud, ringing sound.

Naturally, the whole thing caused the pirates to make a hasty retreat to avoid being crushed to death.

Kimball stared both in awe and shock at the carnage that was her office moments before, "Wh—what is going on _now_?" She finally demanded.

Carolina, however, had her green gaze focused on the rather familiar-looking transport.

"There's only one pilot I know who would attempt a crazy stunt like that…" She muttered as her thoughts trailed off.

" _Aw, I'm glad that you remember me, Carolina."_ Four Seven Niner's voice stated cheerfully enough, though after regarding the cyan-armored woman's condition, the frown on her helmeted face looming from the transport's window became apparent when next she spoke, _"Though greetings can wait until the bleeding's stopped."_

There were heavy footsteps racing from the transport's ramp, and another all-too familiar person in black armor was suddenly heading over the debris towards the redhead.

"Carolina!" The woman called out, holding out her hand, "You all right?"

Carolina ignored the pain in her leg to stare up at the newcomer in staunch disbelief, " _Tex_?!"

The smirk was evident in the other redhead's voice when she spoke: "Long time no see, huh?"

* * *

The walk to the warehouse was fairly uneventful, despite the sounds of fighting that could be distinctly heard in other areas of the settlement. Honestly, Dexter Grif was rather grateful for that, especially since Richard "Dick" Simmons' condition hadn't improved any as they traversed through Chorus.

…Not to mention, the chubby man wasn't sure how he would be able to handle a firefight with both an unconscious Simmons _and_ a noncombatant like Malcolm Hargrove to consider.

The warehouse building itself was fairly quiet when they came upon it. There were the all-too-familiar telltale signs of some assholes having ransacked the place given the footprints and discarded pieces of equipment and tech covering the ground, but it seemed like all of the action had moved to other places.

Holding Simmons tighter to himself, Grif continued on cautiously through the building to the clinic area that Doctor Grey had set up. Hopefully, the others had regrouped here after whoever had run through the place left.

Sarge and Doctor Grey could have a good look at Simmons. The two might be insane, but they knew what they were fucking doing when it came to cybernetics. At least the orange-armored soldier hoped so.

But, when the genetically engineered man and Hargrove managed to pry open the clinic doors, he realized that he wasn't going to be meeting Sarge and Doctor Grey here. Grif's heart dropped to his stomach at the realization.

The only individuals to be found in the clinic were the slumped over, inactive forms of Sheila and Lopez. Not to mention an unconscious tall blond in blue armor, his gun Freckles knocked to the ground at his side.

"Caboose-!" Grif started, heading towards the genetically engineered man to make sure that he was all right, Simmons still slung over his shoulders.

…It was at the very second when he took a step toward Caboose that a blinding, electrical pain suddenly flared to life in his side.

Grif's legs gave out from under him. He crashed to the ground, the redheaded cyborg tumbling on top of him.

Through tear-filled eyes, Grif looked up at Hargrove. The Charon Chairman stood over the tan-skinned man with a rather dispassionate look on his weathered face.

In Hargrove's hand was a taser of some kind. Fucking bastard.

"I suppose I should thank you for cooperating to get to where the transport is located, more or less." The old man stated without preamble, "You see, I have rather large plans for everyone from Chorus."

As Hargrove talked, the clinic filled with mercenaries and Insurrection assholes. Grif realized that they must have been hiding in the area the entire time.

He had been so worried about getting help for Simmons that the possibility of an ambush hadn't even crossed his mind.

Hargrove turned his back on Grif as he headed towards the door, "Be sure to take extra care with the merchandise," he told the pirates as he left, "Especially Simmons."

Grif couldn't help but feel his fingers tighten a fraction around the aforementioned redhead, even as a second later, he fell unconscious.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Lots of things happened in this chapter, and the aftermath of those events will start to be shown in the next part of the story. More intensity from here to come! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter. If you did, I hope you enjoyed it! :D


	26. Chapter 22

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

The first thing that Lavernius Tucker was aware of when he regained consciousness was the searing pain in his side. Then came the annoyingly bright lights blaring down on him, like he was hungover without having enjoyed any of the fun before the hangover.

Tucker winced and grimaced immediately in response, memories from his past flooding back unbidden at the familiar sight and the feel of a medical table beneath his back. For a moment, he swore that he was back in that fucked up facility about to give birth once more…

The dark-skinned man jerked subconsciously at that train of thought, his hands going protectively to his stomach. Unlike back _then_ , his hands weren't strapped down to the table. That action partially started to calm his nearly panicked brain down.

Dimly, Tucker recognized the room he was in as being quite similar to one of the hospital rooms of Chorus. That realization calmed him down even more, as did the familiar sights of Doctor Grey, Bones, and Doc suddenly hovering over him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tucker could see a pale Andersmith sleeping in another hospital bed with Grif's friend Cass sitting listlessly in a chair by his side. What the fuck had _happened_?

"Tucker! You're awake!" Doc stated the obvious in a relieved voice, his purple eyeglass frames dangling precariously off the tip of his nose.

Tucker nodded, then winced as another stab of pain washed over him, "Kind of wish I wasn't though."

"That's understandable given your injury." Bones assured him gently, trying to coax Tucker into a more comfortable position.

His injury…? Well, that would certainly explain the ache in his side. It almost felt like he'd been…

Suddenly, the events leading up to his lying in a Chorus hospital bed became crystal clear.

The teal-wearing man remembered being with Washington, then the power outage happened and they had run into Doc and Donut. That was right around the time that Felix and some of his asshole mercenaries had shown up. There had been a flash of metal followed by _pain_ …

Then, he glimpsed Washington racing forward towards Felix. The blond Freelancer's back had been the last thing he had seen before everything went black.

" _Wash_!" Tucker bolted upright in the hospital bed and his side suddenly felt like it was on _fire._

"Careful!" Doctor Grey warned cheerfully as she brought her hands to his shoulders to steady him, "Don't move so fast or you'll reopen your wound again. While it would be a blast for me to reseal it, I doubt you'd be so keen on the experience."

"Fuck that!" Tucker remarked, looking frantically around the room for any sign of steel-and-yellow armor, 'Where's _Wash_?"

Doctor Grey and Bones both looked at each other, unsure of how to respond to Tucker's query.

It was _Doc_ who finally answered him, looking at the ground with a crestfallen expression, "He was…he was captured." He finally said at length, "Donut too."

"Along with several others." Bones added after a minute of hesitation, as if gauging how Tucker would handle the news.

No wonder Doc had looked so forlorn. Tucker swallowed nervously and shot him a sympathetic glance. Losing Donut probably hurt Doc a lot. He felt a pang at the thought of Washington, Donut, and other friends having gone missing.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Tucker finally said at length before dropping onto his pillow again in staunch disbelief.

He looked around, still trying to process that Donut, several others he didn't even know about yet, and especially _Wash_ were gone. He was desperate for something good, real, and reassuring at the moment.

"Hey, where's Junior?" Tucker asked after a moment of quiet, "He's okay, right?"

 _Please let him be all right!_

The three medical staff members all looked at one another uneasily once more, and Tucker felt what was left of his world shatter into pieces.

* * *

There was a shouted " _God fucking damn it!_ " from further down the hallway, and Leonard Church couldn't help but wince at the despair lacing his friend's voice. So, it looked like Tucker was now not only awake _but_ had also been caught up to the situation at hand.

The cobalt-armored soldier felt horrible for the dark-skinned man. Having an ounce of sympathy was saying something considering how sucky _he_ felt the situation was. Church was honestly still having a hard time processing what had happened himself.

Granted, his own uncomfortableness was tenfold because of the fact that the two most important women in his life were currently having a staring death match standing across one another over his hospital bed. Said "glare off" was broken only temporarily by the shout from Tucker, as both Carolina and Tex looked over at the door for a split-second in concern before going right back to staring at one another.

Doyle was still snoozing away in a bed on the other side of the clinic space, Kimball inexplicably sitting beside him. Every so often, the genetically-engineered woman's dark eyes darted towards the two other women and Church, but she seemed focused on her own little world at the moment.

After a few more tense moments of silence, Church figured _what the fucking hell_? If he was going to break the silent death match, he'd better do it now.

"So," Church began in a totally convincing, not-fake-at-all conversational tone to Tex, "I take it that the reason you left before had something to do with Charon?"

It wasn't much of a guess at this point. Tex and her pilot friend showing up when they had pretty much cemented it. But, Church was the king of trying to stay casual and suave.

Tex blinked at the sudden question intruding on the staring contest between herself and Carolina, but nodded in reply, "That's right."

"So you just left without telling anyone why." Carolina muttered under her breath angrily.

The two women were back to regarding one another from over his hospital bed, and Church found that he _really_ wanted a bed pan right about then to help shield his balls.

Tex broke the eye contact with a sigh, "Look, Carolina, I didn't want _our_ new family getting involved in something dangerous after they had finally had a chance at a peaceful life."

"Well, you did one hell of a job all things considered!" His sister shouted back in Tex's face, her voice full of anger and hurt.

Church had honestly expected Tex to get right up in the other redhead's face then to defend her actions. But, what the black-armored woman did instead managed to surprise both Church siblings. Tex let out a sigh and glanced at the ground, clenching her left hand into a fist, "You're right about that."

She spoke so softly at first that Church had to strain his ears to catch her words, though when she looked up again there was the familiar _steel_ he'd always admired in her tone: "But, first and foremost, we _need_ to focus on a rescue. Now."

Carolina scoffed, "Like I needed _you_ to tell me that." She stated angrily before stalking out of the room.

…For some reason, Church suspected that she was going to have a chat with the black-haired pilot that had come with Tex. They had been pretty close back in the day, if he recalled their interactions correctly.

Tex remained standing for a few moments, silently watching the doorway that Carolina had just gone through before turning to regard Church with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes, "Let me guess. You're pissed at me too?"

From her voice, it sounded as if she already expected the answer.

Church couldn't help but roll blue eyes, "Given the shit you pulled?" He asked incredulously, "You're fucking right I'm pissed. Bitch."

Tex nodded, looking not at all surprised. The redhead seemed ready to leave the room, even turning as if to go. Church panicked at the notion, "But honestly?" He admitted a second later, "Right now?"

She paused, raising an eyebrow as if trying to guess what he was thinking. Her hand rested on the back of the chair she had seemed incapable of sitting in ten minutes earlier.

"Right now, I'm just glad you're back."

It was as close to a " _mushy_ " confession as they were likely to give one another, and Church couldn't quite meet Tex's dark eyes as he felt his face get red. Suddenly, the sheet covering his legs was incredibly fascinating.

Tex took that comment as a cue to finally sit down. "It's…good to be back." She told him awkwardly, "Even with how shitty stuff is."

He nodded his head and the two sat in companionable silence together. At some point, unknowingly, they even started to hold hands. Church could just imagine how pissed Carolina would be if she saw them.

* * *

Richard "Dick" Simmons woke up with a start, completely unaware of his surroundings. It took him a few seconds to process that his back was on a cold, hard surface. It took him a few more seconds to realize that he was staring up into a bleak ceiling of gray, nondescript metal.

Somewhere nearby he could make out a constant hum. His mind registered the noise as something mechanical. An engine, perhaps? Which would mean _what_ , exactly?

It took his sluggish brain a minute longer to piece back the memories of what had happened earlier, his face reddening as he realized he'd just been about to _kiss_ Grif again. Then, because his timing sucked as usual, there must have been another blackout.

It was nice that he could recall those memories, but none of them explained why he was on a transport of some kind now. Everything was so foggy, as if his brain was still trying to sort itself out.

"Simmons! Thank goodness you're awake!"

He blinked at the sound of Sheila's recognizable voice, turning his head in its direction. The gunmetal green robot was sitting on the floor of what appeared to be a small, empty room that was serving as some kind of holding cell. Lopez was seated next to her, the two robots' metallic fingers entwined.

Relief bubbled up in his chest at the sight of the familiar, helmeted faces—and Simmons sat upright, ignoring the dizzy feeling that accompanied the sudden motion.

"You guys are here too?" He couldn't help but ask rather dumbly, realizing how stupid the question was the second after he had said it.

Lopez let out an electronic snort, "Obviamente." _{"Obviously."}_

Sheila nodded, "That's right. This cell was designed for holding robots specifically."

Huh. So, whoever had taken them evidently considered Simmons more robot than human thanks to his cybernetics. That was good to know, he guessed. And not at all hurtful or anything as he tried to ignore his suddenly watery vision.

"Bienvenido al maldito club." _{"Welcome to the fucking club."}_ Lopez muttered sarcastically as if reading his thoughts.

Well, he assumed the robot was being sarcastic. He couldn't really understand him. But, because there was enough happening that Simmons didn't have time to fully dwell on his admittedly fragile self-esteem, he tried dispelling " _I'm not considered human!_ " and not understanding Spanish from his thoughts.

"What happened? I don't—!"

There was the sound of rustling beyond the energy barrier that prevented the trio from moving out of their prison cell, cutting off the cyborg's sentence. Simmons glanced through the translucent blue field, surprised to find another just like it across the hallway. There was more movement from beyond the second field, and then three familiar figures came into focus.

"Hiya, Simmons!" Donut said, a bit too cheerily for their current situation, "Glad to see you're finally coming around!"

"Sir, it's good to see you!" Jensen agreed from her spot next to the dirty blond.

Her brother Matthews nodded his auburn head of hair in quiet, earnest agreement.

"You guys were taken too?" Simmons' voice became high-pitched in disbelief as he stood up, making his way over to the barrier.

He experimentally touched it, noting that there was a warm, seemingly solid energy field blocking his way, but that the barrier itself did little more than tingle his human hand upon contact.

"Are you all right?" He asked the others, noting a pretty big bruise over Donut's right eye in particular.

"Oh, we're just fine and dandy now!" Donut tried reassuring his teammate, "Though Felix wasn't too happy with me earlier."

Simmons blinked at that new piece of information. _Felix_ had been involved in whatever this was? Then that meant…

"I am not okay." A familiar voice lamented just then, "I lost Freckles."

The redhead started at Caboose's voice, turning to stare at the wall to the right where he'd heard it from.

That must mean that the blue-armored young man was in the next cell over…

"Caboose?" He couldn't help but call out tentatively.

"Yes, Simon?"

There was a hectic rustle of movement then, and Simmons nearly jumped out of his skin at the pounding on the wall of their cell.

"Simmons! You're awake?" Grif's voice sounded more frantic than Simmons was used to it being, "Fucking finally!"

"Geez. Calm down, bro." Kai interjected not a second later, "I told you he'd be fine."

"Kai…" Simmons recognized the gentle tone belonging to Kai's friend, Volleyball.

Holy shit. How many of them _were_ here? In a way, Simmons was both relieved and saddened to hear Grif's voice just then.

He smiled sadly, though he knew Grif couldn't see it, "Y—yeah. I'm awake now, Grif. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fucking great." Grif remarked sarcastically, and Simmons could just picture the orange-armored solider rolling his eyes.

"We're _all_ doing fine at the moment, Simmons." Washington's voice interjected.

Simmons' blood ran cold at the notion that _Agent Washington_ of all people was captured too.

"What happened exactly?" Simmons' voice was soft when he spoke, but evidently it still carried into the other cells because he heard Washington sigh in response.

"Hargrove betrayed us. He had everything planned from the beginning. The mercenaries, the power outages. All of it." The Freelancer informed him without preamble, "Now, we're on his ship."

"Oh." Simmons' shoulders slumped as realization started to sink in.

How could he have been such a blind, trusting idiot? After all, he remembered how upset his father's interactions with Hargrove had made his mother. How could he not have seen how untrustworthy the older man was?

"They split us up into groups. The non-genetically engineered people in one room, us genetically-engineered guys in another. Robots in the third." Bitters stated.

"They even have Tucker's son in here too! Jerks." Palomo added.

So, Junior was there too? That brought the count up to fourteen that had been captured. Simmons felt terrible for the small boy in particular. And for _what_ purpose, exactly? That question was freaking Simmons the fuck out.

For that matter, what the fuck was going on in Chorus too? Were those left behind okay, or…?

Washington sighed into the uncomfortable silence that followed, "At any rate, we need to rest and prepare for whatever is going to happen next."

Despite inwardly still panicking, Simmons couldn't help but nod his head shakily in agreement despite the Freelancer not being able to see the gesture. Old habits die hard it seemed. He could almost hear Grif mutter " _kiss-ass_ " from the next cell.

* * *

A couple more hours passed following Washington's oh-so-helpful advice that they catch up on rest. Normally, Dexter Grif would be all for that shit. But, this situation was _definitely_ not normal. For once in his life, sleep was the last thing on Grif's mind.

Still, even when sleep alluded him, he was a champion of faking it. Boy, had that talent worked wonders on even Sarge at times! So, while the others rested, he sat down in his designated corner of the holding cell and waited.

He watched as Donut, Jensen, and Matthews had already retreated further into their cell. No doubt the trio would take up Washington's advice for themselves.

Bitters had waited just long enough to ensure that Matthews in particular was gone from sight before sliding down the back wall of their cell with an angry humph. He didn't even seem to mind when Palomo sat down next to him, oddly quiet despite getting to talk more with Jensen earlier.

Likewise, Washington didn't seem to mind that Caboose was leaning against him, still saddened as the young man was at being separated from the rest of their friends. Wash had an arm wrapped protectively around Junior while the boy slept on his other side.

Grif's glance lingered longest on his sister. The tan-skinned girl was resting with her head on Volleyball's shoulder, their foreheads touching and hands tightly grasped together. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight before his eyes once more returned to the blue barrier and he frowned.

Once he was certain that everyone was as settled down as they were going to get, he headed over to the wall that he'd heard Simmons' voice coming from behind earlier.

"Hey, Simmons?" Grif called out quietly, ignoring the beads of sweat all over his body.

For a moment, he didn't hear anything and assumed that either his voice was too low or Simmons was asleep. Then…

"Yeah?" Simmons spoke out rather tentatively.

Grif couldn't help but smile for a moment before turning serious, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm…doing better."

Grif rolled his eyes, "I meant with the Hargrove situation."

"Oh." There was some awkward shifting noises following that, "I could be…doing better, I suppose." The nerd admitted quietly, "I feel like such a gullible idiot for not figuring things out before."

"Hey, don't be too fucking hard on yourself." Grif put his hand against the wall and imagined he was touching Simmons' shoulder instead, "A lot of people were fooled by that asshole."

"I—I guess you're right." Simmons seemed to reluctantly agree.

A few minutes of silence followed that exchange, with Grif's hand still lingering on the cool, metallic wall. Grif could feel himself begin to get sleepy.

"Hey, Grif?" Simmons asked rather tentatively.

"Yeah, Simmons?" He couldn't help stifling a yawn.

"Are you…asleep?"

Grif shook his head, "Not yet, at any rate."

There was a sharp intake of air then, as if Simmons had been debating saying what he said next, "Would it…would it be all right if we stayed up for a little while longer?"

Grif pretended to think on it, "Gee, I don't know, Simmons. You know my time is valuable."

A snort of laughter followed that, "Jackass."

Grif couldn't help but smile fondly at the wall, hand still pressed against it as the metal cooled his feverish skin, "Kiss-ass."

The two talked on and on about a variety of subjects to get their minds off of what was going on. Grif had to admit, falling into their daily routine helped quite a bit.

…At least until the fucking doors to the detention area hallway opened and Hargrove and his asshole cohorts stepped in.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Gah, Season 15 just hit me with so many FEELS. I just want to hug a certain cyborg so much now in particular!

Fic-talk now: this was a neat chapter to write, especially since it starts delving into the aftermath of what had happened earlier. Tucker found out about what happened to Junior, Wash, and the others—and was, naturally, none too happy about it. Tex and Church had a moment together. Grif and Simmons managed to have a moment together too, but of course it was interrupted by a certain jerk and his allies.

Next chapter will be a bit longer as Tucker, Church, and the others prepare a rescue attempt. Also, Carolina and Four Seven Niner have a long overdue talk, and Hargrove begins speeding up his plans. I hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am getting the chance to write it out!

Thank you as always for taking the time to read this! :)


	27. Chapter 23

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Vanessa Kimball let out a small, tired sigh as she made her way back to Donald Doyle's hospital room. She had just stepped out to get her continued briefing on the situation at hand. Chorus was about fifty percent operational now…but, bottom line? Things _still_ sucked.

The genetically engineered woman also took some time to check up on Lieutenant Andersmith, as currently he and Doyle were the only ones still assigned to hospital beds. For someone recovering from a gunshot wound, Andersmith had been in surprisingly robust spirits. When Kimball had stepped into his room in the clinic, the dark-haired rookie and Cass had been discussing just how they were going to help those who had been taken captive by Charon.

That had been a couple hours ago. Time seemed to be moving both painfully slow and so fast it was hard to process. As for what Kimball found herself doing now? Well, now she felt compelled to once again visit a man who had been nothing but a source of chagrin and frustration for her since the very first day they met.

…It seemed her Chorus co-leader was going to continue frustrating her. Kimball's eyebrow twitched as she took in the sight before her once the door to Doyle's clinic room had opened. Doyle was sitting upright on his bed, wincing in pain at the motion but obviously still emphatically searching around the space for something.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" Doyle murmured to himself in his search, unaware of her presence.

Kimball realized a split second later what he was looking for. _His shoes._ Doctor Grey had thought that the co-leader of Chorus might not listen to her very specific instructions to stay put, so she had hidden his shoes. It was a tactic that Kimball had thought was overkill, but now? Now she saw that Doctor Grey had reasons to take extreme measures.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kimball couldn't help reprimand from her spot in the doorway, "You should still be resting."

Doyle harrumphed, evidently giving up on finding his shoes at the moment, "Resting will not help us restore Chorus _or_ rescue our missing comrades, Miss Kimball."

Kimball said nothing in response. She knew how true Doyle's words were, and a part of her couldn't help but respect him a bit for sharing her inner sentiment.

The genetically engineered woman stepped into the room, and Doyle flinched as if he expected her to try physically restraining him. Instead, she opened a cabinet on the other side of the space, holding out his shoes to him.

As Doyle blinked at her in open-mouthed astonishment for giving him assistance, Kimball couldn't keep herself from muttering, "You _better_ not do anything foolish enough to reopen your injury on me."

Doyle shook his head to dispel the last traces of bewilderment from his eyes, a slight, sort-of self-deprecating smile suffusing his features. "Believe me, Miss Kimball, that is the farthest thing from my mind," he assured her before frowning and getting to the matter at hand, "But I _would_ like to hear your take on the status of the repairs, and your estimation on how long you think we'll need to set up the rescue mission."

"Of course." Kimball said as she nodded her head as a sign of respect towards the older man for wanting to get right back into the thick of things, "Hargrove and his lackeys will definitely regret _ever_ having targeted Chorus once we're through with them."

"Quite right." Doyle stated emphatically in response.

For once, it looked as though there was _finally_ something that both leaders could agree on.

* * *

Leonard Church kicked his feet into the air as he sat on the stairs to the warehouse, a gun by his side. Oddly enough of his own volition, he was trying to keep Freckles company since the Virtual Intelligence missed Caboose. Okay, so _maybe_ Church was missing the blue-armored guy too. …Not that he'd _ever_ fucking admit it to anyone.

It was after the first twenty minutes of awkward silence that they were joined by Santa, whose presence was a bit of a surprise to the cobalt-wearing cyborg. "Hey," Church called out to the Artificial Intelligence, "Weren't you with that Four Seven Niner pilot before?"

The two had been talking about something earlier, but Church hadn't really cared enough to pay their conversation much attention. He had a " _not a people person_ " reputation to maintain, after all.

The holographic alien form flickered momentarily, "I did not wish to intrude on a private matter between her and Agent Carolina." Santa said, as if that explained everything.

Which, honestly? It did. Church nodded his head in understanding. Knowing his sister and how outspoken the silver-wearing pilot in the wheelchair was, he imagined that conversation would be a lively one. Finally he sighed, throwing his head back, "This whole situation sucks."

"…AGREED." Freckles added in not a second later.

"It's funny, but that's the same exact thing I keep telling myself too." Tucker's voice came from off to the side, "So what are _you_ planning on doing about it?"

"Tucker." Church regarded the wounded man in mild surprise, "You probably shouldn't be up yet."

"Fuck that!" Tucker snorted, making a face, "Like I could just lie back in a hospital bed while my son, Washington, and the others are all in trouble!" Before Church could even think to open his mouth and say something, Tucker held up his hand, "Listen, I know that Tex and Carolina are going to go on a rescue mission. Because, they're _them_. I fucking want in."

"We all do, Tucker." Doc's voice chimed in from where the warehouse door just opened as he, Sarge, and Doctor Grey stood in the entrance, "I can't just sit around and wait. Not after Donut risked his life to save both of us."

Sarge harrumphed, nodding his graying head in solemn agreement, "A rescue mission is right up our alley!" He stated reassuringly, "Besides, I highly doubt most of the people here would want to back out of one even if given the chance."

"Definitely not!" Doctor Grey confirmed rather emphatically, a determined smile on her face. Church tried to ignore the maniacal gleam in her eyes, suddenly almost pitying their enemies.

Instead, Church sighed and shook his dark head of hair, "You're all fucking crazy. You know that?" He inquired before smirking himself, "But, then again, so am I since I've been thinking along the same fucking lines myself."

* * *

Agent Carolina and Four Seven Niner were seated in the cockpit of the black-haired woman's transport, Carolina helping with the repairs as the two talked. It was almost _nice_ , how easily they settled back into routine. Even if the topic of their conversation currently understandably put both women on edge.

"So, the reason you didn't stay with us before when I had asked you to," Carolina stated, recalling their last conversation together at a bar long ago, "Was because of this mission of Tex's?"

Four Seven Niner frowned in recollection before nodding her head, "That's the gist of it, at any rate."

Carolina's green eyes flared in annoyance then as she clenched the tool in her hand tightly. She clenched her jaw shut, not trusting her mouth.

"…Careful. I'll need that in one piece." Four Seven Niner joked to try and ease some of the tension, "I'll also need the plane to not need any more repairs."

"I don't understand why everyone chooses Tex over me." Carolina finally muttered to herself in a voice that Four Seven Niner probably wasn't meant to overhear.

But, know what? Tough shit, she had. Four Seven Niner let out a sigh and placed her hand tightly on Carolina's shoulder, "You _know_ that isn't true for either me or York." She stated.

The Freelancer said nothing, and the pilot felt compelled to further explain herself. "I knew that you were happy with your new…" she struggled to come up with the right word, " _Family_ , and I didn't want to disturb that by getting you involved in something long-winded and dangerous."

There was silence following Four Seven Niner's explanation. The tan-skinned woman recognized that Carolina was carefully considering her words.

"Still," the redhead finally stated at length, "It would have been nice to have known the real reason." She turned to regard Four Seven Niner seriously, "Like it or not, I _would_ have helped the two of you."

Four Seven Niner smirked and leaned back in her wheelchair, "I know you would have, because you're crazy stubborn like that." She smirked self-deprecatingly, "But like I'm one to talk since I'm just as bad."

Carolina rolled her eyes, "Obviously."

The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes afterwards, both mulling over what had been said. They also mulled over what hadn't been said. The silence was always so heavy between them.

Four Seven Niner glanced over at Carolina, her hand lingering still on the other woman's shoulder, "So, are we good or what?" She couldn't help asking a bit tentatively.

Carolina thought on the question for a few tense moments before she nodded, "Yes, we are."

Both women looked at the other and smiled before turning their attention back to the repairs.

* * *

"I hope that everyone is doing well." Malcolm Hargrove stated in a voice that really said he could care less about the comfort of any of his " _guests_."

Dexter Grif couldn't help but mutter sarcastically, "Oh, we're just doing great!"

At that exact same time he heard his sister shout out, " _What do you think, asshole?_ " while Palomo and Volleyball attempted to hold the medic-in-training back from charging the cell door, for which Grif shot them both a thankful look. The last thing he needed was for Kai to antagonize their captor. That was his fucking job as the older sibling. Not to mention as a self-proclaimed pain in the ass.

"This flight could use peanuts." Caboose remarked oh-so-helpfully a second later.

From the cell across from them, Donut added in, "A change of décor would be great too. Gray on gray is so tacky!"

The guards who were with Hargrove exchanged looks, and Grif couldn't help but smirk at their confusion and bewilderment. Leave it to the two youngest Red and Blue members to thoroughly confuse the enemy just by being themselves.

Washington had Junior pressed close to his side, "What is going on here, exactly?" He inquired, just as down-to-business as could be expected of the former Freelancer.

Felix, who had come into the space along with Hargrove and his hired goons, smirked with his arms crossed cockily over his chest, "I'd say it should be pretty damn obvious what's going on, especially for a smart guy like you."

Washington nodded, frowning, "I have a pretty good idea, yes. But I'd like to hear it directly from you, Chairman."

Hargrove raised an eyebrow, but he was apparently in the mood to deign them with a reply all the same, "My company, Charon, does business in unstable regions of the world. Places that haven't yet adjusted to this strange new concept of peace." He informed them, "We sell them everything from materials and weapons to… _other_ resources."

Washington clutched Junior tightly as he glanced around at everyone in their respective cell, "Such as people."

Hargrove nodded, "You already assumed as much, I gather." The older man carried on despite the threatening growls coming from several of the people in the cells, "Stable areas such as Chorus are, naturally, bad for business." He noted, "So we cripple them and use them to turn a profit instead."

"By stealing resources from them." Simmons muttered under his breath, dawning realization evident in his tone.

Hargrove turned to where Simmons was then, smiling appreciatively, "You've always been a quick study, Richard." Before Simmons could respond, Hargrove turned to cast his eye on everyone in the cells, "Most of the people here will be sold in Rat's Nest in the days to come." He cast a disparaging glance over towards Grif in particular, "Though I doubt that some of you will make much money at all."

Grif gave Hargrove the finger in response, much to the old man's amusement.

"Now, while you are onboard, I expect you all to be well-behaved guests," Hargrove continued, "As the collars you've been outfitted with are rigged with explosives."

Grif glanced down then, realizing that he had been so caught up in worry before that he hadn't even put much thought into the metal collar strapped around his neck.

"You're bluffing." Bitters tried putting on a brave front to cover up his nerves. Maverick move.

Hargrove glanced around the cells, his eyes falling on the forms of Jensen and Matthews huddled close by one another in the cell that they shared with Donut. He pressed a button on the datapad he held, and suddenly a beeping noise filled the air as a light on Matthews' collar began flashing.

"N—no!" Jensen screamed, her hands flying to her brother's throat in a vain attempt to pry the collar off of him.

"Katie! Matthews!" Palomo shouted in fear, and now it was Kai who was holding Volleyball back from charging the door in a desperate attempt to reach her adopted siblings.

"Fucking stop it!" Bitters yelled frantically, clenching his fists at his sides as his brown eyes remained glued on the struggling Matthews.

"Please!" Donut pleaded, now trying futilely to also help Jensen in getting the collar off.

"You've made your fucking point!" Washington stated emphatically, shoving Junior behind him has if trying to shield the child from the scene playing out before them.

Hargrove once more pressed a button on his datapad. The beeping stopped as Matthews sank to the floor in shock while Jensen and Donut tried comforting him.

"I hope you know how serious I am now." Hargrove informed them all, eyes narrowed in cold authority. Silence met his comment, and he tilted his head slightly in Junior's direction, "Take the boy. Odds are good he could be a valuable research specimen."

Washington's grip on Junior tightened, "No…!" he began to protest as Felix entered the cell. Evidently, the energy door only worked to block those that Hargrove wanted it to. Damn collars.

Felix smirked at the Freelancer's reaction, "Come on, _Washie_. Or would you rather the kid be splattered all over the place instead?"

Junior squeezed Washington's hand as if to reassure the adult, and Washington reluctantly let go. "If anything happens to him…" he leveled at Felix with a tone devoid of any emotion.

"You'll do what?" Felix's smirk widened, "I'd love to see you try something, _Wash_. Your threats don't mean shit now."

Hargrove turned his attention over to the cell next to theirs, "Get out of the cell, Richard." He told Simmons, "You have a contract to fulfill."

"What?" Grif raced up to his cell door, anger flaring, "That's fucking bullshit!"

From inside his cell, Simmons swallowed nervously and took a step forward, though Lopez and Sheila were suddenly right at his side.

"Simmons, are you sure…?" Sheila asked him gently, a comforting hand on the redhead's elbow.

Hargrove harrumphed at the display of solidarity, clearly unimpressed by the robots' actions, "May I remind you, Richard, that I can blow up _any_ of the people here if you take too long?"

His dispassionate gaze fell on Grif in particular when he spoke, and the cyborg tensed at the obvious threat.

"Simmons! You better not fucking listen to this asshole…!" Grif began before trailing off when he realized there was no point in finishing that thought.

The orange-armored soldier was already too late. With a growing sense of panic, Grif saw a reluctant Simmons leave his cell after nodding thankfully to both Sheila and Lopez. Simmons took the scared Junior's hand tightly in his own upon exiting, as both were made to follow Hargrove out of the holding cell area.

"Simmons," Grif muttered under his breath as he watched the cyborg and Junior leave, "You're a fucking idiot."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Just a short chapter to get the ball rolling, but things are definitely going to be picking up on both the captive and rescue mission fronts of this story in the next couple of chapters! I'm also going to try my best to keep to a schedule when it comes to updating all of my ongoing fics so that none of them get too behind.

Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this fic! :)


	28. Chapter 24

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Richard "Dick" Simmons and Junior were led from the detention area of the transport to a hallway that seemed to stretch on forever thanks to a sea of nondescript, sterile-looking doors. At the sight, Simmons couldn't help but wonder just how large the Charon transport was. Not only were there doors for what seemed like miles, but there were also armed guards at practically every other step.

Because the cyborg was a stressed out mess, his mind also couldn't help but contemplate just _what_ Hargrove was planning on doing with them. It wasn't exactly like Malcolm Hargrove was a businessman of strong ethical integrity. He had been friends with Simmons' father, after all. That alone spoke volumes for the older man's moral compass.

With that thought forcing his anxiety to go full throttle, the redhead's flesh hand tightened its grip on Junior's smaller one. Unfortunately, Simmons didn't have to wait too long as Hargrove paused at a door to the left of the hallway.

The door wasn't anything special and seemed the same as any of the others that they had walked past before, but it obviously opened to something of importance or they wouldn't be there. Simmons tried to guess at the contents of the room beyond, but his imagination was so horrid that he had to stop lest he give himself a panic attack.

Hargrove was efficient and didn't waste time, so he stood by the door while casting a dismissive look over his shoulder at Junior in particular, "Take him."

"Wha-?" Simmons' couldn't even finish his question as his grip on the increasingly frightened child tightened yet again at the approaching sight of two guards, "W—why?"

Hargrove turned fully around to face Simmons, an uncaring and cold look in his eyes, "The boy is unique even as far as genetically engineered standards go." He said, motioning to the glowing teal lines on Junior's dark skin, "It will be best to observe him before deciding our next course of action."

Junior let out a sharp outtake of breath, eyes large and fearful. Simmons, hand still gripping Junior's, had them both take a step back from the encroaching guards. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the ones still behind them.

One of those guards clasped their hands painfully tight onto Simmons' shoulders, giving his two comrades in front plenty of time to pry Junior away from the protective cyborg.

"But…!" Simmons began helplessly, watching as the two guards escorted Junior into the room and away from his vision.

"We'll take excellent care of him in the meanwhile." Hargrove stated dispassionately, "At least until we figure out what to do with him."

…If the words were meant to be somehow reassuring, they rang hollow. Simmons couldn't even form a reply, his eyes just lingered on the now closed door. Would Junior be okay? Would _any_ of them be okay? And, what the hell would he tell Tucker when he saw him again? _"Sorry, Tucker, I let them take your kid."_ …He sure as fuck didn't want to have that conversation.

Simmons had always been a failure to himself, but now he failed everybody else too. That realization punched him so hard he was finding it difficult to breathe.

"Think of it another way, Richard." Hargrove informed him as if he was describing the weather, his voice dragging Simmons out of his shame spiral like nails on a chalkboard, "At least the boy won't be put up for sale at Rat's Nest like your other comrades."

Hargrove's words might have broken through the haze that the maroon-armored soldier had found himself in, but the tense feeling in Simmons' gut didn't dissipate any with them. His shoulders slumped in utter defeat.

"…Why are you doing all of this?" Simmons finally asked tiredly, surrendering to the situation at hand.

"To make a profit, of course." Hargrove gave him a look as though the answer should have been obvious. When Simmons said nothing in response, Hargrove smirked, "Tell me, Richard, how much do you think your friends will go for?"

Simmons swallowed nervously, repulsed by the very notion. Back during the war, the selling of individuals wasn't uncommon. In fact, it was the whole purpose behind the rise of genetically engineered people.

However, after the fighting, it had fallen somewhat out of practice. At least, it had in peaceful regions like Chorus. Simmons was becoming painfully aware that the rest of the world may have not followed Chorus' example.

Hargrove continued on as if Simmons' growing distress wasn't plainly visible on his face, "Even someone like your friend Grif could sell for a flattering price, depending on there being people interested in his condition."

Simmons closed his eyes then, trying not to make it too obvious how terrified this conversation was making him. He couldn't stop from mumbling _"Don't…!"_ under his breath though as the guard holding him by the shoulders tightened his grip threateningly.

"You, though, Richard?" Hargrove continued, squaring in on the younger man in question with calculating coldness, "You, I have other plans for." Hargrove strode up so that he was standing directly in front of Simmons, casting a detached-yet-fierce glance at the cyborg's face, "Your father signed a contract all those years ago, and now it's time for it to be paid in full."

He grabbed Simmons' chin in a surprisingly strong grip and jerked Simmons' head to the side so that his cybernetic face plating was visible, "Cybernetics are a powerful seller in the current economy. You'll play a key role in helping strengthen Charon sales of it."

"Of course," and here Hargrove dropped his hand from Simmons's face as if the very touch had burned him, "I know your loyalty lies with Chorus and your friends. However, I like being in complete control of my property. So, I'm proposing that you undergo some _voluntary_ modifications to ensure your loyalty. _Before_ we reach Rat's Nest."

The way the older man had said that made Simmons' skin crawl and his stomach do flips, "You can't…!"

"You can refuse, mind you." Hargrove cut him off, "But we might just keep Grif away from the sales then. Your friend already looked as though he were reaching his limit. How long do you think he would last without release? From my experience with other genetically engineered people of the same ilk, it isn't too long."

Simmons froze, recalling how sickly Grif had looked the last time he had seen him. If Hargrove was right, then…

Hargrove obviously saw the resignation in Simmons without the redhead having to voice it. He motioned to the guard grasping the cyborg, and Simmons registered the released grip without really acknowledging it. There wasn't anywhere he could go.

"The choice is yours, Richard." Hargrove told him before the Chairman and the guards stepped away, leaving Simmons alone in the corridor to think, "You're a smart boy though, so I know you'll see things my way."

…All alone in a corridor of doors, none of which held an exit with a better solution. Damn it. Grif was going to be so pissed at him.

* * *

Leonard Church and the others gathered around the fixed transport, eager to get shit underway. After all, they had people to rescue and asses to kick.

"It's been awhile since I've had so many passengers." Four Seven Niner noted, glancing at the assembled group with mild amusement dancing in her brown eyes.

Carolina raised an eyebrow, "You didn't think we'd leave our friends behind, did you?"

"I suppose not." Four Seven Niner looked thoughtful as she replied, "It will be fun to fly with a full house again."

"That's enough chit chat. We need to get a move on." Tex remarked quickly, stepping inside the ship with the others following after her, "Now."

Church couldn't help but bring up a question that had been bugging him since they had started planning this suicidal rescue mission, "How the fuck are we even going to find where the others have been taken?"

It wasn't like the Charon assholes who had kidnapped their friends had left behind any gigantic clues as to what their next step could be. Which sucked. It would be nice if they were on equal playing fields and fighting idiots too, instead of just being them.

Tex stood at the cobalt-wearing man's side and motioned to a corner of the transport where an all-too familiar machine sat. It was a chair with a whole lot of interface equipment connected to it, as well as headgear. Church instantly felt his pulse quicken. It was a fucking nightmare brought back to haunt him.

"Recognize that?" She asked him, even though the answer to her question was pretty obvious in Church's reaction to seeing the interfacing devise.

"Fuck no." Church took a step back from the all too familiar machine. After all, he had been practically glued to it during his time at Project Freelancer, and the memories alone were enough to torment him, "Why can't _you_ do it instead?" He asked with all the venom he could muster, and it was _a lot_.

After all, Tex _was_ a genetically engineered cyborg like himself. That was one of the reasons that they had bonded together. Common ground and all that shit. It would have been romantic had it not be traumatizing.

"You know that I was never as good with cybernetic linking as you and the other Fragments were." Tex informed him, shrugging her shoulders, "Besides, I need to get ready for the fight."

Church looked at the machine again. The dark-haired man felt as though he would be sick. His unease must have shown on his face, because both Carolina and Tex placed their hands on his shoulders. Church couldn't decide if the women were going to try to give him a pep talk or kick his ass into submission. …In his defense, one could never be sure with those two.

"It will be all right, Church." Carolina tried reassuring him, and Church breathed a sigh of relief that they were going with a pep talk even if it was awkward as fuck.

"Yeah, we'll be right here." Tex said as she glanced over at the other redhead. Carolina nodded her head in surprisingly earnest agreement, and for a split second Church wondered if he was hallucinating.

"Dude, I'll definitely owe you fucking big for this!" Tucker remarked from the transport's entrance.

"He's right." Sarge noted nearby the teal-armored soldier, "If this linking do-hickey can help us find the others, then I believe it is worth whatever torment it gives a dirty Blue."

Leave it to Sarge to ruin the moment with his ridiculous Red vs. Blue talk. Church would have laughed at the continued status quo if he wasn't so terrified.

"Well, you _almost_ gave a successful pep talk there, Sarge." Tucker sighed, waving off the red-wearing man's comment as the two soldiers entered the transport proper.

Church let out a tired sigh, "Fine. I'll fucking do it." He clutched Freckles tightly to his body as Carolina and Tex both patted him on the back, "Because you're all whining about it."

Santa materialized over his shoulder just then, "Do not worry. I will assist as well."

Church rolled his eyes, "Yeah, no offense, but that will just make me even more fucking paranoid."

If it were possible for an Artificial Intelligence to shake his shoulders in utter indifference, Santa just did. With that particular issue more or less settled, Tucker and Sarge both went to help Four Seven Niner with the transport's controls.

"Junior, Washington, and the others had better be okay." Church heard the teal-wearing man mutter to himself.

Tucker's assessment was one he couldn't help but agree with as well. After all, if he had to fucking plug in to that machine again, the least those fucking assholes could do was be okay. Church didn't go out of his way for just anybody, after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Frank "Doc" DuFresne was busy looking over Doyle and Andersmith's injuries right at the entrance to the transport. …With Doctor Grey's supervision, of course.

Doc was pretty sure he should feel at least somewhat insulted that they didn't trust him on his own, but one suggestion of aloe vera from the purple-armored medic seemed to be enough to convince both Kimball and Cass to politely ask for another medical opinion.

At the moment, Doc couldn't help but frown at both men, "Are you absolutely certain that you want to come along?" He didn't like the idea of patients running off on rescue missions before they were entirely healed.

From where she stood close by with her arms crossed, Kimball scoffed, "I've already asked both of them that. They're as stubborn as they come."

Doyle nodded his head in her direction, eyes warm, "Quite right. I learned from the best in that regard."

Kimball couldn't help but smile slightly in response to that. Doc felt like he was intruding on something, but he had no idea what. He had the sudden idea that Donut would be jumping up and down in joy and talking about _"atmosphere"_ …a thought that instantly made him miss the pink-armored soldier immensely.

"We both want to get our friends back." Doyle continued, "A rebuilt Chorus just wouldn't be the same without them."

"Here, here!" Cass couldn't help but add in, her hand clasped gently on Andersmith's shoulder.

Andersmith nodded his head in agreement, smiling slightly up at the brunette bartender as he did so. Doc could hear Donut's voice mutter cheerily _"Aww, somebody's love-struck!"_ at the sight, and he tried his hardest to ignore the bittersweet feeling building up as he looked away.

"Bones and I will hold down the fort while you're gone." Cass assured them, before squeezing Andersmith's shoulder and waving to all of them before stepping out of the transport.

"I can relate to your enthusiasm, I suppose." Doc muttered under his breath as his mind went to the others, and especially towards _Donut_ , then, "Although, medically, I don't know if it is a good idea."

"That's why we're all going too!" Doctor Grey said gleefully. She seemed to read his mind as she patted the pacifist's shoulder encouragingly, "We'll patch them up good-as-new when they inevitably reopen their wounds!"

"I'd start buckling up if I were you." Four Seven Niner's clear voice came through the entire transport as the engines whirred to life and the entrance door closed, "Things are bound to get crash-y sooner rather than later."

* * *

For someone known for being lazy and who was also currently not feeling well, Dexter Grif anxiously paced the length of his cell. The orange-armored soldier was worriedly waiting for news on what happened to Simmons and Junior, and it seemed that moving about was the only way he was managing to stay sane. Grif hated moving, so focusing on something he hated kept him from thinking about all the possible ways they were royally screwed.

"Getting too worked up won't help them, Grif." Washington advised from where he was sitting on the ground next to Palomo and Bitters.

Grif turned around to say something sarcastic in reply, but the haunted look in Washington's gray eyes stopped him short. No doubt the blond was concerned too, especially for Junior.

"They're going to be fine." The former Freelancer stated in a way that broached no room for argument.

Grif wouldn't be so sure about that, especially given that no one really knew what was in store for all of them. But, one look at his sister and Volleyball huddled together with hands grasped, made him refrain from saying that out loud too.

The others started conversing amongst themselves in the cells while Grif sat down and tried to tune out yet another riveting game of " _I Spy_ " between Donut, Caboose, and Palomo. Sheila was the only one polite enough to join in with them. Given the silence from the other robot in her cell, it seemed as if Lopez was simply ignoring everyone at the moment.

In an attempt to get past his nerves, Grif was just about to close his eyes and get a nap in. Of course, that idea was shot when he heard the telltale swoosh of a door opening from outside their holding cells.

"Captain Simmons!" Jensen exclaimed in surprise from her cell while standing next to her brother, Matthews. The boy was still shell-shocked over what had happened earlier, but his eyes lighted up at his sister's exclamation.

"Are you okay?" Donut hurriedly asked a second later, all three of them approaching their cell door to get a better look at their maroon-armored friend.

Simmons smiled, but Grif could tell there was something off about the expression as the cyborg awkwardly waved, "H—hey, everyone."

"Don't " _hey_ " everyone, kiss-ass!" Grif exclaimed, standing at the very front of his own group's cell, "What's going on?"

"I just…" Simmons faltered, his expression wavering, "I just wanted to see you guys again. To see _you_ again, Grif."

Something about his wording sent alarm bells through Grif's mind, "What…what the fuck are you talking about?"

"The right thing." Simmons looked both stricken and determined all at once, "I'm doing something in order to keep everyone as safe as possible."

Uh-oh. The heavyset man knew that _doing the right thing_ tended to royally suck, and something about Simmons' demeanor didn't leave much room for argument. Panic was definitely setting in with Grif now, "That isn't really a fucking answer to my question, Simmons! What the hell are you—?"

The tan-skinned man was shocked into silence when Simmons actually reached through the energy shielding meant to keep people inside the cell to touch him. A tingle shot through Grif's arms at the sudden contact, and he glanced up at Simmons only to be struck by the sad resignation on the cyborg's face. It was as if the physical contact had proven something to Simmons, but Grif had no idea _what_.

"Wha—?"

Grif's question was cut off by the sudden appearance of Price, who cleared his throat just then behind the maroon-armored soldier before speaking to him: "It's time."

Simmons nodded and removed his hands. Grif was too slow due to shock to react, although once he had recovered he tried to pull Simmons close instead. However, the energy door of the cell was now between them once again, preventing the physical contact he found himself craving.

"S—stay safe and lay off the snack cakes, okay?" Simmons said to Grif as he reluctantly pulled away after nodding goodbye to everyone.

The orange-armored soldier couldn't help but find Simmons' attempt at brevity rather awful, although for some reason his voice couldn't find words. The cyborg quietly followed Price out of the holding cell area just as a stunned Grif finally got to his senses.

" _Simmons_!" Grif shouted, and no amount of prying from both Washington and Bitters could get him to stop pounding on the door.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I apologize if this chapter seems rushed. I was having a bit of a problem with figuring out this part and how to advance the story to the next point. Thankfully, I am there now and have a clearer idea on how I am writing the story from here on out, ha-ha!

Poor Simmons is definitely going to be going through a trial in the next chapter, and things are not looking good for everyone who was captured…even if the rescue mission is properly getting underway. Hopefully, this chapter helped at least get you pumped for what will happen next! :)

Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this fic! :)


	29. Prelude for Losers? (4): Washington

_**Prelude for Losers?**_ : **Washington**

 _Find out what happened before the events of_ When We Were Soldiers _in the_ Prelude for Losers? _specials!_

 _In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus._

 _The fourth story is Washington's._

 _Main Pairing(s): Tuckington, Grimmons_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

 _Prelude for Losers?_ — Washington:

He hadn't always gone by _Washington_. In fact, when Washington was " _born_ ," he had simply been given the name _David_ because it was quick and easy to remember. It was the type of simple name often used in the genetically engineered batch facility. After all, " _simple and easy to use_ " was important when entering in all of the various points of data that went with shuffling around tank-born humans designed to fight in someone else's stupid, pointless war.

As it was, Washington never had much lingering attachment or sentiment towards the name David. He couldn't even recall his _actual_ last name. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure he ever had one. If he had a surname, it had been kept extremely private. Even from himself.

The truth was, his name hadn't originally mattered in the grand scheme of things. His name dropped in importance once he was old enough to hold a gun and had been sent out onto the frontlines. He'd been made to wage war on others who were either created to do battle just like him, or on the equally poor souls who just happened by circumstance to be born into a world where there was constant fighting.

Honestly, he barely even paid attention to what color he was fighting for or against on any given day. He hardly cared for the name of whatever region he was transferred to. The list of things Washington didn't care about back then was quite long.

It wasn't that he was even a good soldier ether. Truthfully, he _wasn't_ one of the best fighters of his batch. Not by a long shot. But, that was okay in his mind. Most of the " _best_ " didn't last too long, what with constantly being sent over and over again to the frontlines. They were also forced to undertake the more dangerous infiltration missions thanks to their stellar marks. No, Washington didn't care about being the best then either.

He had always been a survivor. That's what kept Washington, what kept _David_ , still breathing at the time. He made sure he got out of tricky, treacherous situations alive. He had a habit of ensuring that those around him did too.

Perhaps those traits were what had caused a genetically engineered no-name such as himself to catch the eye of a secret military project. Although, that could have also been due to Freelancer going through a bit of a recruitment drive at the time. David never did end up asking the _"Why me?"_ question, so he never figured out why the hell he had been chosen. Not that it very much mattered in the long run.

The project was one with no particular loyalty to either Red or Blue. It was an independent faction all its own, and its ultimate goal was really quite simple: to put a stop to the fighting that had swallowed the world whole for who-knew-how-long.

David had found it to be an admirable goal, one that meant there would be no more people simply existing for fighting and killing. No more people created for it like he had been. Admittedly, it had not taken a long time to consider his options when Freelancer approached him.

That very day, David made his first real decision ever in his life. He defected from his unit and whatever color of the moment that they had been fighting for at the time to join a project with no real set region allegiance. Freelancer operated out in the open but also under hushed veils of secrecy. He didn't care to give it much thought.

Upon joining Freelancer, David was given another task, one that involved his second choice ever: he got to choose his very own name for use in the program. Of course, it was from a prepared list of locations from a place no one remembered anymore. But, still, it was his to pick and he wore _Washington_ proudly, like a badge of honor.

Things had gone well following his inclusion into the Freelancer ranks. For the first time since his " _birth_ ," he made decisions for himself. The concept of having more freedom on the battlefield to do what he wanted was thrilling. He still had orders, yes, but he was able to choose now how he enacted them.

Washington actually came to know and care for his comrades too, all of them ultimately having joined Freelancer with the same goal. For the first time that he could recall, the blond was having genuine _conversations_ with people who actually wanted his input, who cared about what he felt and thought, who smiled at him and patted his back. He felt a sense of belonging.

He barely noticed, so caught up in this new life of his, how " _ending the war_ " was such an abstract notion. He didn't see how they were sent to places where the fighting was most prominent, and how they would tip the scales in one way or the other before scurrying off to the next warzone.

If he had been paying more attention, perhaps he would have seen the actual truth just as Connie had. Freelancer wasn't doing a damn thing to actually stop the fighting. They had only become a hidden faction of it, manipulating events in whatever way the Director deemed necessary for his weapons research.

But, Washington hadn't noticed, and Connie was later killed as a traitor while trying to tell them all the truth. Then it became too late to do anything.

The project that Washington had put his everything into went up in flames all around him. His cybernetic partner, Epsilon, somehow suffered some kind of a mental breakdown during what was supposed to be their first real mission together. He had tried killing himself while they were out in the field. Washington had been gravely injured himself trying to stop him.

Washington hadn't been aware, though he probably should have been, that Epsilon and the other cyborgs had been a special " _tank-born_ " batch designed solely for Freelancer experiments. They had been created for one purpose just like he had been, and they had suffered immensely for it. Epsilon remembered _everything_ that the Director had tried to make them forget using their neural implants.

…In hindsight, it had been those very injuries that Washington sustained that had probably saved his life. After all, it was right after he had been hurt that everything came to a bloody, violent end. He had been in recovery when the fighting started, had been thrown from his hospital bed by an explosion that had blissfully knocked him out during the slaughter that followed.

When he had finally, _finally_ awoken, it had been to the blindingly bright lights of yet another hospital room, this one wholly unfamiliar to him.

Apparently, he had been found amidst the wreckage of Freelancer's collapse and brought to wherever _there_ was. He was never entirely sure what kind of facility he had been brought to. No one wore any insignia to indicate whether or not they were currently in a Red or Blue zone, though the place had both a military and research air about it.

In fact, from the dispassionate and clinical way all of the people acted who interacted with him, Washington was sorely reminded of his time growing up in the batch facility that had " _birthed_ " and initially trained him. After all, centers like that were not associated with any specific side either since they were more concerned with who paid the most for their products.

All he could really get from those around him in the unfamiliar facility was that he was simply going to be there until he had recovered entirely. As for why that was, or what they wanted with him, no one would or could say.

At the time, Washington didn't particularly mind given everything that had happened. He was still trying to process too many things all at once and failing miserably.

…Everyone he had ever cared about was most likely dead, buried beneath rubble and ash. Ending the war had been a lie. Who knew if Freelancer's actions had actually made things in an already hopeless situation _worse_?

It had been the first time that he had ever decided something for himself, and he had ruined everything immensely. In more ways than he could ever hope to repair.

…For once, Washington was _not_ grateful that he had some preternatural talent for survival.

The only thing that helped him escape from his overwhelming, all-encompassing guilt was being allowed to explore the facility once he was deemed well-enough to do so. Naturally, there were areas that he could not gain access to, but an injured man too wrapped up in his own thoughts was not deemed a flight risk from a building with state-of-the-art security and guards around every corner.

He explored at a shuffling, meandering pace. Usually, he barely even registered just where he was going until he reached an area he couldn't get through or a guard told him to get lost. At first, escape or anything of the sort was far from his troubled mind.

That was, until one day when he wandered from the hospital room for an exceptionally long time. The voices and the guilt threatened to swallow him whole if he didn't keep moving, keep moving…

Washington ended up in a brightly lit hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. It was rather unremarkable, save for the sheet of glass that extended a good long ways down the right side of it. He blinked gray eyes, momentarily caught off-guard by the sight as he stepped closer just to see if he could catch a glimpse of his harried, scarred form in its surface…

" _Hey, asshole!_ "

Only it wasn't _his_ face that he saw staring defiantly back at him, but the brown eyes and dark-skinned features of a person who appeared to be a few years younger than himself. Washington started at the obvious _venom_ in the man's voice, blinking once more as his thoughts threatened to spiral out of control again.

" _What the fuck's wrong with you?_ " The younger man continued, clutching what appeared to be a bundle of grey blankets protectively towards his chest, " _Did you come here to gawk at the man who had a baby too?_ "

* * *

The man in the glass cell, as Washington quickly realized it to be, was named Lavernius Tucker. He was an orphan due to the war and, ever since, had been going from region to region as a soldier with others who were stuck in similar situations.

" _Well, until I fucking wound up in here that is._ " Tucker told Washington bitterly, though there was a grateful look in his brown eyes as if _finally_ being able to talk to someone about all of this had been enough to put him in a better mood.

The baby in the younger man's arms squirmed a little. A small dark arm poked out from amidst the bundle of blankets, a glowing teal line visible on the skin. Washington watched with marked interest as Tucker gently cooed at the small infant. The blond worried that he was interrupting some important bonding moment, but he didn't want to leave all the same. He was quite fascinated by what he was witnessing given how foreign a sight given his past it was.

After all, his experiences with babies in general were quite limited. His batch facility deemed it better for their genetically engineered soldiers to be " _birthed_ " as older children and not infants, so this was his first time truly ever seeing one. Besides, Tucker's story…

"What exactly happened?" Washington heard himself ask as Tucker once again peeled his eyes away from the infant, full name: Lavernius Tucker Junior, to look up at Washington as if in surprise that the older man was still there.

" _Oh, the usual bullshit that happens during the war._ " Tucker replied as he shrugged cockily in an attempt to play things off, " _I was out scouting some ruins when I fell into this huge ass hole and bam! I was face-to-face with an alien relic or some shit._ "

Washington was fairly certain there had to be more to the story (what was Tucker scouting for, for instance?), but he didn't want to interrupt as the dark-skinned man continued.

" _So, I did what any guy would do in my situation. I touched it._ "

Washington raised an eyebrow before responding, "You touched an alien relic without knowing anything about it." He repeated blankly.

" _Wouldn't you?_ " Tucker challenged back, not missing a beat.

Washington opened his mouth to say no, but suddenly stopped himself before the word could escape his lips. Curiosity _had_ gotten the better of him in some instances, especially when it came to trying out new weaponry and the like in the past. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

Tucker grinned triumphantly at the former Freelancer's obvious hesitation, " _That's what I thought!_ "

Washington couldn't help but roll his eyes, not even bothering with a vocal reply.

" _But, thanks to that, now I can do_ this _!_ "

Carefully balancing the baby in the cradle of his right arm, Tucker reached down with his free hand and unclasped what appeared to be some kind of hilt from his belt. In the next instant, a brilliant flash of light filled the space as a sword made out of energy flared to life.

Junior cooed at the sight, reaching tiny fingers towards the suddenly materialized object.

Tucker smiled down at him, " _No way. Not until you're way older, kiddo._ " He said gently before beaming over at Washington, " _Pretty fucking amazing, yeah? And it only works for me! Not that it's been any help in getting through this fucked up space glass or whatever this place is made out of._ "

"An alien relic imprinted on you." Washington said with a tone that held a note of awe. He had heard of such things happening before, and a lot of Freelancer tech had come from alien ruins, but this was the first time he had actually seen an imprinted person. He frowned in thought as Tucker deactivated the sword, "That still doesn't explain how you ended up here." He finally noted, eyes glancing at the cell.

" _I was getting to that._ " Tucker said, rolling his eyes in response, " _Just chill, dude._ " He rocked Junior in his arms before his eyes narrowed considerably, " _Once I figured out how to get out of the fucking ruins, I was grabbed by these assholes and locked up here. They've run all sorts of bullshit tests, but not even once could they get it up without me. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!_ "

Whoever-these-people-were they were keeping Tucker here because they were also interested in alien tech. He wondered if that wasn't the reason why they had pulled him out of the mess that had been left of Project Freelancer as well.

" _The last_ experiment _they ran?_ " Tucker's voice had gone oddly quiet just then, and he shuddered before he looked down at Junior again and smiled, " _It landed me with this guy here._ "

Washington stared down at the baby. So, that explained Junior's odd markings in a way. If he had been created using at least some alien technology…

"I've never heard of a genetically engineered human being birthed through pregnancy before." Washington muttered, more to himself than to Tucker.

Genetically engineered people were normally created in tanks such as he was, and kept in there until they were usually considered old enough to be of viable service. He had heard of some cases where a baby might be taken out of a tank early for specific purposes, but it was generally frowned upon by the general public to do so.

" _Yeah, well, let's just say the experience was a shitty one and leave it at that._ " Tucker told him, " _It was painful as all fuck, and they had me chained to a bed for_ months _._ "

"I'm sorry." Washington spoke quietly, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

Tucker's frown faded from his features as he looked down at Junior once again and beamed, " _It wasn't_ all _bad, though. After all, because of that I have this little guy now, and he's easily the best fucking thing I've ever had in my life._ "

Washington smiled slightly, "I'm…glad then, Tucker."

He was, truly. However, the thought of Tucker and his son staying here as research pawns still caused his stomach to lurch.

" _I do miss the guys though._ " Tucker remarked quietly himself a moment later, a contemplative look on his face, " _They might have been a bunch of assholes a lot of the time, but they're family_."

And, because Tucker was as desperate for human contact and companionship as Washington was for his lingering, troubling thoughts and memories to fade, he told the former Freelancer all about them.

Tucker talked about Sarge, who was like the grumpy father of the group that no one had ever known they wanted but who kept everyone together all the same. He talked of cheerful Donut and his horrible tendency to say weird shit all the time. He spoke of the often inept but always trying Doc, and about the nerdy and socially awkward Simmons.

…Of Church, who everyone pretty much considered the biggest asshole of the bunch but who was pretty okay too. Washington frowned at that particular part of the story because the name sounded familiar, but it _couldn't_ be who he was thinking of. Tucker also talked about Caboose, who tended to follow everyone around like a lost puppy and who also just so happened to have a talking gun named Freckles that you did not want to get on the wrong side of. He even described two robots named Lopez and Sheila as well.

Washington stared, transfixed at the fond smile on Tucker's face as he spoke all about his friends, the ones he had called his _family_. He didn't even register when the younger man finally stopped talking a long while later, regarding Washington rather expectantly.

" _So…_ " Tucker said when it became apparent that Washington wasn't going to speak, " _What about you?_ "

"Me?" Washington blinked.

" _Yeah, dude._ You _._ " Tucker replied as he shifted his hold on Junior, " _What's your story?_ "

"It's…" Washington hesitated, swallowing down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, "Complicated, Tucker."

Tucker raised a dark eyebrow, " _More than all of this?_ " He questioned incredulously, gesturing to what was surrounding them.

"I…" Washington trailed off, his voice refusing to work properly.

He frowned in frustration. He didn't want to think on it. Not right now. Everything was still too fresh, too painful. He'd drown if he explained too much. If what he revealed were to somehow cause this inexplicable lifeline to fade away…

There was a momentary flash of understanding in Tucker's eyes as he smiled at Washington again, " _Hey, it's okay. You don't have to spill you guts to me all at once._ "

"Really?" Now it was Washington's turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

" _Yeah,_ " Tucker nodded in response, " _Besides, it's not like we don't have all the fucking time in the world, right?_ "

That might be true enough, but the thought of Tucker and Junior being stuck here…

" _Holy shit, dude! I think he likes you!_ "

Tucker's exclamation had Washington glance down into Junior's small, teal-lined face. The infant was smiling gummily up at him from within his sea of blankets, a tiny hand touching the thick, protected glass between them.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Washington reached out and touched the glass himself. His much larger, bandaged hand overshadowed the smaller one. Did people normally start off so tiny? Washington couldn't have prevented the shaky smile that crossed his lips even if he had wanted to do so.

" _See?_ " Tucker told him, his smile even more wide and bright, " _Even Junior's glad you're here!_ "

Washington looked up into Tucker's warm, brown eyes then and one singular thought floated to the surface of his mind. He was going to get the two of them out of there. No matter what.

* * *

Thanks to the guards' complacency in allowing an injured man to walk through large portions of the facility unattended, getting everything that he needed to help facilitate the breakout wasn't difficult.

Washington was technically still recovering, but he had been created specifically to be a soldier. Plus, he had trained in Freelancer with some of the best stealth experts there were. Once he was able to walk again, it had been a grave mistake on this facility's end to allow him the level of mobility they had. He was going to use that to his advantage now.

The gun Washington held was one he had procured from a lone guard in the stairwell leading up to Tucker and Junior's cell. He had done his best to hide the unconscious body, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the guard was uncovered. Washington had to be fast. He had to survive, like all of those times previously in his life.

The former Freelancer moved quickly, relying on the lock-picking techniques he had learned from York to open the door to the cell. Tucker was asleep on his cot when Washington stepped inside, Junior in a crib by his side.

Washington stepped over to the other man gently and cautiously, aware that they only had a few moments at best. "Tucker, wake up!" He hissed out through his mouth as he shook the sleeping figure.

The teal-wearing man groaned drowsily and groggily opened his eyes, widening them a split-second later as his brain processed just who it was standing over him, "What the…? _Wash_?"

Washington, thankfully, did not have the time to process the nickname he had just been given, "Get moving, Tucker." He told him in a rather urgent whisper, "We're leaving. Now."

Tucker blinked only once more before an enormous grin broke out over his face, "Fuck yeah!"

* * *

Somehow, against all rhyme and reason that Washington could think of, their escape attempt actually went off without a hitch.

The trio not only managed to get away from the facility, which Tucker was oh-so-helpfully quick to describe as " _out in the ass end of the middle of fucking nowhere,_ " but they also disappeared successfully. Part of that was no doubt due to hiding in a war-torn region where everyone was too busy trying to stay alive themselves to notice in their midst the addition of two men with a baby.

From there, it had been easy enough to travel along with other refugees, heading towards a town where the fighting wasn't quite so prominent.

Washington was secretly thrilled at the opportunities he had now to hold little Junior, though perhaps it wasn't quite so secret given the smiles that Tucker flashed his way whenever he did so. He was ecstatic to be able to feel the same sunlight on his skin as Junior and his father as well.

The former Freelancer ended up healing at a surprisingly quick rate once things had quieted down since Tucker insisted that he take it easy whenever it was possible.

Still, he had trouble sleeping most nights. Tucker was always close by to gently wake him up whenever he was in the throes of a particularly bad nightmare. The other man would hold his hand comfortingly, allowing Washington to catch his breath. Sometimes, he'd even explain about his dream or memory if he desired, although he still often preferred to keep his demons hidden.

He also noticed that he took a hold of Tucker's hand more often than not whenever they were in a crowd, but Tucker never complained. He just focused on looking for familiar people and settings.

They eventually managed to track down Tucker's oddball family in a place called Blood Gulch. Washington was quite shocked that there was no debate, only an expectation that he would be staying with them along with Tucker and Junior.

Perhaps even more shocking was the sight of Epsilon, Carolina, and Tex among them. The sight of Epsilon startled Washington the most as it turned out he _was_ actually the Church that Tucker had told him stories about.

Carolina and Tex both shared comradely looks with Washington that were both painful and welcoming all at once. After awkwardly avoiding one another for a time, he and Epsilon, or Church as Washington reminded himself to now call him, managed to make small talk at Tucker's vehement insistence.

All of it pulled at old wounds at first, but Washington found those slowly healing over time the more he interacted with the colorful array of soldiers that now surrounded him. He was grateful for small favors, was relieved that others had managed to survive Freelancer too even if it was hardly unscathed.

Tucker's makeshift family and their ready acceptance of Washington into their midst became an important, vital component to his life. He enjoyed watching Tucker get the chance to interact with all of them again, and even found that he liked getting dragged into their antics more than he would ever care to admit.

He _enjoyed_ being there with all of them, especially Tucker and Junior.

* * *

"No, no, no! That is not educational at all, Grif!" The redhead sitting at the table next to Junior exclaimed in exasperation as the young toddler happily drew on a piece of paper with crayons, his green eyes narrowed towards an orange-armored man also at the table.

"Simmons, Simmons…" Grif, one of the newest members of Sarge's family, said as he shook his dark head of hair in pity, "Not every game he plays has to be educational."

Simmons bristled as he glared at the tan-skinned man sitting across from him and Junior, "At this developmental age, it's extremely important to—!"

"If we teach him some card tricks, that would involve math. Right?" Grif cut the maroon-wearing man off, the smirk evident in his tone.

"What?!" Simmons shrieked indignantly at the suggestion, causing Grif to clap his hands over his ears and wink conspiratorially over at the little boy who was now smiling and very much copying his motion.

It seemed that Dexter Grif and his younger sister, Kaikaina, were certainly fitting in quite well now with Sarge's makeshift family unit. Washington watched as the surprisingly domestic scene before him continued to play out.

Junior was, as a way of an apology to Simmons for "siding" with Grif earlier, showing the lanky man the picture he had drawn. …Had Washington been aware that it was a stick figure drawing of himself and Tucker holding hands, he would have turned beet red.

Simmons was currently in the process of praising the boy's artistic skills, trying not to blush too much at the realization of what the picture was about, while Grif watched the two of them interacting with an oddly fond, sort-of smile on his face.

Washington couldn't help but wonder when the two of them would just confess already before shaking his head to remind himself that he needed to be thinking about the next guard watch duty. He'd be relieving Carolina soon.

"Those two would make good parents together some day, huh?" Tucker noted as he sat down next to Washington on the beat-up sofa, an obvious look of joy and pride on his face as he observed his son clearly enjoying himself.

Washington nodded his head slightly in agreement, taking in the peaceful atmosphere all around them despite the bickering still coming from the pair in the kitchen. No one was actually participating in real fighting today, a rare experience indeed.

The situation was _pleasant_ , even if Washington was still not quite used to it yet.

"I'm just glad the two of you get to have moments like this." He heard himself saying out loud before his brain could clamp down on that particular train of thought.

Washington felt his face start to heat up as he risked a glance over at Tucker, who was staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Then, at length, the wide grin that Washington so loved seeing suddenly suffused the dark-skinned man's features.

"Thanks, Wash. You know, it's really good to see this side of you too."

If both he and Tucker shared a rather fond look between the two of them just then, neither chose to comment on it. For the first time in a long, long while…Washington was grateful that his only marketable skill happened to be surviving.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Here we have Washington's (and Tucker's!) prequel story! :D Gah, I think this might actually be the longest one yet! These prequel stories are quite lengthy endeavors, which is probably why it takes me longer to get them out. XD

At any rate, the next _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Grif's story! Haha, I can't tell yet if I will be diving right into that one next or getting to the next chapter of _When We Were Soldiers_ first, but I suppose we will just see what happens later on down the road.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	30. Prelude for Losers? (5): Grif

_**Prelude for Losers?**_ : **Grif**

 _Find out what happened before the events of_ When We Were Soldiers _in the_ Prelude for Losers? _specials!_

 _In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus._

 _The fifth story is Grif's._

 _Main Pairing(s): Grimmons_

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

 _Prelude for Losers?_ — Grif:

The drab, unadorned room they were standing in was created solely to be an efficient source of shelter and housing. Nothing more. It was cold. The room lacked any of the comforts one expected from a home. As such, its inhabitants held no lingering nostalgic sense of attachment to the space.

Behind them in the nondescript room, Dexter and Kaikaina Grif heard a shuffling of feet. Grif turned his head slightly to the side to see that their various batch siblings were being ushered out. For the first time in a long while, the older Grif wished that he was joining them.

After all, it was never a good sign when their "creators" singled someone out. It was especially bad that it was just the two Grif siblings.

Grif glanced down at Kai. She was far younger than he was, released from her tank earlier than most due to some unforeseen malfunction. Nothing was ever described as a " _medical emergency_ " in the genetically engineered creation facility, thus Kai's early removal had only been viewed as a countermeasure against their owners potentially losing a future profit.

As a result, Grif had always felt rather protective and close to the girl. This was also because Kai had actively chosen to latch onto him the very second that she had been allowed to visit with the other tank-born children, the only one of his batch siblings to do so.

He could almost pretend they were "normal" siblings with their matching tan skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. That thought alone kept him grounded and gave him an actual _purpose_ , even as the asshole grownups who created their batch began preparing them all for an incredibly shitty future life.

The idea of _Kai_ one day going into that sort of situation made Grif's stomach lurch even more than his own eventual involvement in it did. It was no wonder he stress ate every chance he got. Surprisingly, he had become an expert at sneaking into the cafeteria when no one was watching.

Briefly, Grif wondered if that particular skill of his wasn't the reason why they had been held back. However, it made no sense to include Kai in his punishment, unless they had also found out that he sometimes snuck her snacks too. Maybe the jerks considered her guilty by association.

But no, judging by the way the two scientists before them were glancing at datapads and mumbling under their breaths, this evidently had nothing at all to do with his pilfering of rations.

Grif only picked up a few slivers of the discussion their creators were having amongst themselves. Occasionally they'd glance his or Kai's way to punctuate on a particular point, making it obvious something was up with the siblings.

" _Defective_ " was a word that popped up with the scientists a lot, often along with " _overweight_ " followed by a pointed finger in his direction and " _colorblind_ " when the focus was on Kai. After a few minutes of conversation, the two grownups looked at one another as if reaching some sort of unanimous agreement.

That was when the topic changed to " _cutting our loses_ " before _bam_! Suddenly, for the first time ever in their lives, Grif and Kai both found themselves outside of the facility grounds with nothing but the drab clothes on their backs.

Grif could only blink at the sheer rush of it all. His whole life, he had dreamt of leaving that shithole with Kai. He had imagined the Grif siblings finally being able to fucking choose what they wanted to do for themselves. Now, here they were and he was unsure of what to do. Grif was suddenly scared shitless of a world he actually realized he knew very little about.

The panicking part of his brain wanted to slam his fists on the cruel, unyielding metal gate of the batch facility behind them. He wanted to scream that they had made a mistake until his throat was raw and his lungs gasped for air. If not for him, then for Kai at least. How the hell could he take care of her when he had no fucking clue how to take care of himself?

The other part of his brain recognized that screaming would be fucking useless, and a dumb thing to do besides with the energy coursing through the gate and wall before them. Grif also knew what kind of life would exist for them behind those walls given what their batch had been created for, and he didn't want any fucking part of it.

"What…what do we do now?" Kai whimpered next to him, eyes wide as her normally cheerful and carefree tone came across as absolutely terrified instead.

Having Kai there, probably even more scared and upset than he was at the moment, helped to calm Grif down. He had to be strong right now. For his sister's sake, if nothing else.

"I don't know." He admitted shakily a few seconds later before he reached over to grab tightly onto her hand with his own, "But we should get moving."

There was a town in the far off distance. If nothing else, Grif figured that making it there safely was a good first goal.

Kai nodded her dark head of hair, giving his hand as tight a squeeze as her smaller fingers would allow.

* * *

Months later, the two siblings wandered the streets of a region they hadn't even bothered learning the name of. Not that it really mattered anyways. Inevitably, it would only be a matter of weeks before the fighting between the Reds and the Blues would engulf this area too. No place was safe from the war. Traversing in such a manner seemed to be the general pattern of their life now.

They had long since ditched their uniforms from the batch facility since people had looked at them funny when they had been wearing them, sometimes even refusing to interact as a result. All that had done was reinforce Grif's belief that most people were assholes.

The Grif siblings would travel to an area where the fighting was relatively light for the moment and Grif would do some odd jobs here and there to get them enough money for food and clothing. Then, when the never-ending war became too heavy to ignore in that particular region, the siblings would quickly leave.

It wasn't exactly what one would call an " _easy_ " or " _ideal_ " life by any stretch of the imagination, but it was _theirs_.

If he was completely honest with himself, Grif would sometimes watch his little sister try to make do and put on a brave face only to feel a wave of guilt wash over him. Kai deserved so much _more_ than what her life had been so far, and he felt like he was a horrible older brother for being unable to provide it.

He _knew_ what his body was capable of. Maybe if he just…

"You guys wouldn't happen to be looking for a place to stay, would you?"

Grif started at the unfamiliar voice that had just spoken to them, his hand tightening a protective margin around Kai's own as they spun around to see who it was who had asked the question.

Two brunettes leaned against the side of a rundown and abandoned building that looked as if it had once been a shop of some kind. One of the girls was very tall and looked to be about Grif's age, while the other one was dressed entirely in brown clothing and appeared to be somewhat older.

The younger of the two raised her hand in what was meant to be a friendly wave, "Hey! I'm Cass, and this is Connie."

"We happen to know of a place you can go," Connie, who Grif now knew was the one who had spoken up earlier, said as she nodded her head slightly in way of greeting, "If you're interested."

* * *

The " _place_ " that Connie spoke of was actually more of a concept called the Insurrection, a group comprised of young people from various walks of life who had nowhere else to go. The way they interacted together felt more like an extended family, something that both Kai and Grif were unfamiliar with. Despite some mutual distrust on both sides at first, it wasn't long before the Grif siblings were accepted into the fold.

It no doubt helped speed things along that Connie was the one who had vouched for them. Connie was already well-known among their ranks for picking up strays. In fact, she had found Cass just a few months before, after the girl's parents had thrown her out because she was " _no longer their son_ " or whatever bullshit reason they had said at the time. Cass didn't like to talk about it, so no one pried. The brown-wearing Connie had a pretty strong, unbreakable bond with the Insurrection's leader too, so he usually backed her decisions.

The Insurrection had a headquarters of sorts, and they participated in fighting for either the Reds or the Blues. It just depended on whatever side their region was currently on in any given moment. Grif was happy to help out, if only for the roof it provided over Kai's head. Admittedly, the added security of the base was also a great source of comfort to him. So long as he pulled his weight, they were provided with food to eat and clean bedding too. Everyone had their own lives to focus on, no one in the Insurrection ever judged the siblings for being genetically engineered.

Grif and Cass dated for a while since the girl was nice and always willing to look after Kai when Grif went out on missions, but ultimately decided that they were better off as friends. She still offered to help him with his " _release_ " whenever Grif needed it, which was a welcome piece of news as that had steadily started becoming more of an issue for him as his body developed.

…Grif still worried about the future, and what would happen when Kai started experiencing the need for " _release_ " that all of their particular genetically engineered batch developed too.

Beyond Cass and Connie, the one other person in the Insurrection who Grif most got along with was an older boy named Terrence. Terrence went by the nickname Sharkface due to the decorative touches he had put on his helmet, and he usually always had a kind word or a friendly pat on the head for Kai when they passed in the halls. The brown-haired teenager also looked out for Grif like he was his own little brother when they were out on missions together. He even taught Grif how to drive transports and how to properly shoot a gun.

It was a good life. Way better than either of the ones that the two siblings had known before. But, even still, Grif was not an idiot. He could tell that behind the smiles and laughter, there was stuff going on in the Insurrection that the others weren't yet willing to tell the newcomers in their midst. It was obvious there was decidedly heavy stuff going on behind closed doors and in hushed whispers. Stuff that he'd rather not know anything about, and that he definitely didn't want Kai to get involved with.

Grif wasn't the only one who noticed either. Cass had figured it out as well. It was evident in the frown on her face when she came to an area of the base they weren't allowed in. The brunette's frown only ever deepened with the passage of time. Eventually, she had enough and decided to leave.

"Maybe you guys should do the same." Cass suggested in a quiet aside to Grif after she had finished hugging Kai goodbye.

But, Grif didn't really know of anywhere else they could go, and he wasn't yet as brave as Cass was. It terrified him to think of heading off into a violent and dangerous world without really knowing what was going on, so he simply said nothing in response.

…It wasn't until a few weeks later that Grif was given the final push he needed to leave. He had been sitting in the kitchen area of the Insurrection's base, hands still shaking following a particularly nasty firefight. He didn't want to see Kai until they had stopped.

"Rough mission?" Connie asked him, quietly slipping into the chair across from his own.

"You can fucking say that again." Grif muttered, eyes glued to his trembling fingers that rested on the table's surface.

The brunette said nothing for a long while, contemplating his features silently. At length, she looked towards the door as if seeing if anyone would come in before leaning forward. Her voice was a mere whisper when she spoke next, "Soon, things are about to get far more dangerous around here, Grif." She informed him, "I think it's time that you took Kai and left, like Cass did."

He frowned at the intensity in her tone, "But…"

" _Anything_ will be better than having Kai around for what is going to happen next." Connie told him succinctly, no room for argument in her voice, "Promise me, Grif."

Because she sounded so sincere and desperate, because protecting Kai was all he had ever wanted to do, Grif nodded.

Connie left the kitchen as if the conversation had never even happened. In the middle of the night, Grif snuck out with Kai firmly in tow.

* * *

Their travels took them to a region called Blood Gulch.

It was there that, through an unexpected turn of events that involved a battle breaking out suddenly and their ducking for cover behind a fruit stand, Kai and Grif ran into an odd, red-armored soldier named Sarge.

Grif was beyond certain that Sarge was verifiably crazy. The older man seemed not to be thrilled with Grif for some reason, but when he had looked over the scared and exhausted siblings he had let out a resigned sigh and offered to let them join his own mismatched family.

…Because Sarge _had_ helped save Kai's life, and he saw how the younger girl's brown eyes lit up at the mention of the word " _family_ " again, Grif agreed to give it a try.

As it turned out, " _mismatched_ " was definitely the right word for Sarge's family. The older man's group consisted of war orphans, robots, and genetically engineered people like himself and Kai. There were even three " _badass_ " super soldiers from some bizarre program called Freelancer. Fuck, there was even a _baby_ in their midst too! Kai instantly took a firm liking to the kid, and even insisted on helping to babysit.

Despite his initial hesitation and reluctance to get caught up in such a familial unit again, Grif found himself warming up to them almost as quickly as Kai did. Unlike the Insurrection, there were no secrets to be found amongst Sarge's group. They were just a bunch of assholes banding together to try and survive. He could relate to that.

Grif got along with pretty much everyone in the group. Though one of them, a pale and freckled redhead named Richard "Dick" Simmons, rubbed him the wrong way at first.

The orange-armored Grif wasn't entirely sure why, but he always ended up feeling more tense and agitated when Simmons was around. It wasn't like the socially awkward nerd was doing anything to really upset him, but still...

The two wound up arguing. A lot. So much so that Sarge and the others often ended up pairing them up together on assignments for their own fucked up amusement.

Arguments eventually led into conversations, and Grif was surprised at how much he actually began to enjoy the other man's company. They just started naturally going out into the field together, and even began hanging out with one another in their spare time.

He became attached to Simmons in a way that he felt definitely went beyond the boundaries of the familial somehow. He found himself even going out of his way to do things with the maroon-armored redhead.

Grif fucking _dreamed_ about him. And, oh boy, could those dreams get graphic in a way that would surely make Simmons blush if he ever learned of them. Grif would even look for Simmons in the mornings, right after he checked in on Kai, just to argue or to talk. Hell, Grif even did actual _work_ if it meant spending more time with Simmons.

Such was the case right now, with the two of them supposedly on the roof for guard duty. For once it had actually been a quiet day with no conflict in sight, so Grif and Simmons had been allowed to sit down without their armor on. They had spent most of their guard duty time discussing what would be the lamest superpower ever.

After a spirited debate that had them both smiling and glaring at one another, Simmons had yawned and started to doze off. Grif knew the lankier man suffered from nightmares and didn't rest as much as he should due to his extreme workaholic tendencies, so he said nothing when Simmons' head had dipped down to rest on his shoulder.

The heavyset man closed his eyes, relishing the sudden flare up of heat that traveled up his body at the contact. While it was typical of his genetically engineered condition, it always felt more intense whenever the redhead was concerned. At the moment, Grif didn't want to ponder why exactly that was.

"Hey, Simmons?" Grif asked quietly as he opened his eyes to look towards his companion on the roof.

"Hmm…?" Simmons' reply was groggy as he turned his head slightly to get into a more comfortable resting position on Grif's shoulder.

If the redhead fully awoke, he would no doubt totally freak out about their proximity. Grif would then, naturally, have to tease him mercilessly about it. As it stood right now, Grif couldn't help but smile somewhat as he glanced down at the top of Simmons' head. With a whole lot of effort, he resisted the suddenly very powerful urge he had to run his fingers through the slightly younger man's red hair.

"…Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

It would take Grif a little while longer to realize that what he was feeling for Simmons was love.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** And here is Grif's (and Kai's!) prequel story! I hope you enjoyed it!

The next _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Four Seven Niner's story! :) But, stay tuned for the next chapter of _When We Were Soldiers_ first. Gotta get the ball rolling on the main story-line again since things were starting to get pretty intense in it! :D

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	31. Chapter 25

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

"Just for the fucking record," Leonard Church muttered as he felt a sensation akin to floating surround his entire form, "I hate all of this goddamned interfacing shit."

Based off of previous experience, as the frown on the cyborg's features deepened and his blue eyes shut even tighter, Church knew that when he opened his pupils again all that that they'd see would be the vast emptiness of a digital landscape. Zeroes and ones aligning in a pattern of endless infinite glowing lines amongst a black background. …Boring as shit, if you asked him.

 _Interfacing_ was a quick way to connect two cybernetically modified brains together using specially designed machinery. It had often been used, to varying degrees of success, amongst the genetically engineered "Fragments" of Project Freelancer to ensure more secure channels of communication and combat support.

To be fair, Church had hated it back then too. During those days, his main duty as Epsilon had essentially been to have his brain serve as a literal info dump for the various statistics and records of those Fragments who had been deployed out on the field.

He supposed that this time was a bit of an improvement since he was actively scouring for another linked mind in this mess of data voluntarily. Really, it was a veritable needle in a haystack scenario, but _fuck it_. What other choice did they have?

Instead of just being bombarded by a whole slew of intel and events all happening in real time, he was simply casting his own net out for one person, but the memories were still there. That kind of repeated and incessant trauma was hard to move away from. And Church would fucking know. He had been _trying_ to run from it for who-knew-how-many-years now.

" _I assure you, I am now well aware of that fact._ " Santa noted from his position essentially right next to Church, his voice carrying in the digital space.

It was almost disconcerting, the ease in which the Artificial Intelligence had " _hitched_ " a ride with the cobalt-wearing cyborg by simply entering into the components of the interfacing machine back on Four Seven Niner's transport. Oh, sure. Church knew the whole process was actually way more complicated beneath the surface, but dwelling on all the miniscule details right now would succinctly put his brain into overload. It was easier to just think of Santa as a hacking hitchhiker.

Besides, Church was putting up with all of this shit for a reason, right? He needed to fucking concentrate on the end goal, and not raise a binary eyebrow at how wryly an ancient alien Artificial Intelligence had responded to his initial complaint.

" _Church?_ "

It didn't take long for Church to find what, or more accurately _who_ , he was looking for.

The dark-haired man blinked in shocked surprise at the flickering image of Richard "Dick" Simmons standing before him. If his body language was anything to go by, the maroon-wearing cyborg appeared rather upset and stressed out, which was par the course for Simmons. When _wasn't_ the redhead an anxiety prone ball of nerves?

"Simmons!" Church exclaimed, "Holy shit! That was faster than expected."

This was too easy. Not that he wasn't thankful for small favors, but it normally used to take Church hours upon hours to get proper link-ups with the other Fragments when they had been out on the field and not within range of any interfacing stations. Usually to counter that occurrence, the asshole Director would have Church strapped into a machine well before any of the Freelancer missions had started.

Church glanced over at the silent form of Santa, wondering if the Artificial Intelligence's presence had somehow jumpstarted the whole process. He hoped so, because if that wasn't actually the case then that most likely meant…

"You're hooked up to some kind of tech now, aren't you?" Church asked Simmons, fairly certain that if he had been aware of the state of his physical body just then his throat would be dry.

Simmons flickered briefly as he nodded in response, anxiety practically radiating off of him in waves, " _I…don't really know how much time I have left._ " He admitted shakily.

…Fuck it. Charon having Simmons attached to any type of cybernetic modification machinery could not mean anything remotely good.

"A shitload of us are on a transport right now, looking for you guys." Church told the redhead emphatically, figuring that now was a good time to relay as much information to the others as possible, "What the fuck's going on?"

Simmons seemed to pick up on the urgency in Church's voice, because the lankier man responded quickly, " _Everyone's okay. As much as we can be, at any rate._ " He tilted his head to the side as if in quick contemplation of the facts, " _We're on a ship of some kind. They separated Junior from the others too._ "

Well, _fuck_. Tucker was not going to like that bit of news at all, but maybe Church could soften the blow a bit by confirming that everyone was doing all right for now.

"Right." Church nodded his head abruptly to get his brain to focus back on the conversation at hand, "Any idea where to?"

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Church was afraid that Simmons had been cut off from the connection entirely. " _Rat's Nest._ " Simmons finally said at length, " _They…they keep talking about business there._ "

"Rat's Nest." Church repeated, "Got it. Thanks, Simmons."

" _Ch—Church…!_ " Simmons' digital form faded in and out of visibility erratically as his tone became rather pained on top of panicked, " _Tell Grif, I—!_ "

"Just hang on and fucking tell him yourself, Simmons." Church reached out futilely for his friend, "Like hell am I going to be stuck playing Cupid for you two idiots!"

Whatever Simmons might have said in response to Church's absolutely stellar encouragement was lost to the ether completely as the connection forcibly cut off. Church was left standing alone with Santa in the digital landscape, a horrible feeling of foreboding forming in the digital equivalent of his gut.

" _It would be best not to tarry here any longer._ " Santa advised him carefully not a second later, as if concerned that they'd be lost as well to a connection failure.

Church rolled his digital eyes at the suggestion, "Like you had to even fucking tell me that."

With those words, he was no longer floating through cold, sterile emptiness. Rather, the cobalt-wearing man felt the comfortable feel of the soft fabric of the chair at his back. When Church opened his physical body's eyes again, he was welcomed by the rather surprising sight of both Tex and his sister hovering expectantly over him, just as they had done before he had attempted the interface.

"Well?" Tex demanded the second that a cursory glance over Church's form assured her that he was as well as he was going to be following such an experience.

The black-armored woman and Carolina went to quick work unstrapping Church from the interface device. As they did so, he saw Santa emerge from it not a second later. The Artificial Intelligence floated over to where Church had carefully propped Freckles close by against the wall, as if giving him his space. There was sudden movement from farther away on the transport, and suddenly every passengers' eyes were on him as they expectantly waited for a response to the former Freelancer's inquiry.

"They're headed to fucking Rat's Nest." Church muttered through an all-too dry throat, "We should hurry."

Tex nodded and patted him roughly on the shoulder in what was no doubt meant to be a reassuring gesture before she and Carolina helped him shakily to his feet. The redhead in cyan turned to look over her shoulder at the silver-armored woman piloting the transport, "Did you catch that?"

Four Seven Niner didn't even look back at Carolina as she scoffed, hands flying with an expert's practiced ease over the flight controls, "Who exactly do you think you're talking to?" She joked, "Coordinates are already set." Removing her hands and letting autopilot take over for a moment, the tan-skinned woman turned her wheelchair around so that she was facing Carolina directly, raising an eyebrow, "What about you? Ready for the upcoming rescue mission?"

Carolina scoffed herself at the teasing note in the pilot's voice, smirking somewhat, "Please. And just who exactly is it that _you_ think you're talking to?"

The pilot smiled in response, brown eyes twinkling with obvious playful mirth, "Point taken."

Watching the exchange from where he currently leaned against Tex, Church sighed and shook his head in bewilderment. …No matter how many times he saw it, his big sister actively flirting always managed to catch him off-guard.

* * *

"Grif, you need to calm down." Washington's tone was measured and calm. Given the group's current circumstance, the genetically engineered soldier's voice sounded rather forced.

"Washington is right! Losing head is definitely not the best approach!" Donut exclaimed, although his voice coming from the cell across from them was quite worried sounding even with his usual optimistic words.

"Ese dicho ni siquiera es preciso ni útil en este momento. En absoluto." _{"That saying isn't even accurate or helpful right now. At all."}_

There was the sound of rather heavy movement from the holding cell containing only Sheila and Lopez now, as if the two Virtual Intelligences were moving closer to the door.

Truthfully, Dexter Grif didn't really pay them any heed. He was too busy still banging his hands against the energy field of the cell that served as its door to pay close attention to the others.

His hands had long since gone from stingingly aching to rather numb, but the sensation barely registered in his mind. Nor did the shortness of breath, blurry vision, and intermittent surges of extreme heat or cold. Grif supposed that was one benefit to total and blind panic, even if he wasn't in the right mindset to fully register it.

All the orange-armored man could keep picturing in his mind was fucking _Simmons_. The redhead's last words continued to echo over and over in Grif's head, as did the forlorn and terrified expression that had clouded over the cyborg's facial features as he, as he…

"God fucking damn it!" Grif shouted again, slamming his hands into the humming wall once more.

Jensen and Matthews were both watching him with wide, fearful eyes next to Donut. The two adopted siblings held each other's hands tightly as all three continued to look on in sheer helplessness. From their different cell, there wasn't anything they could really do to ease the situation other than watch how things played out.

Speaking of Grif's cell, Caboose had actually escorted a thoroughly resistant Bitters, Volleyball, and Palomo to the farthest portion as if sensing that Grif's freak-out was only going to intensify. The blond looked as though he might burst into tears at any second himself, his tall form trembling uncharacteristically.

Awkward-as-fuck Washington had actually moved to put a hand on Grif's shoulder, but was stopped in midmotion from doing so by Kai. The tan-skinned young woman stepped right beside her big brother, essentially blocking the former Freelancer's path.

"Dex, you need to calm the fuck down!" Kaikaina Grif shouted with all the authority that she could muster, "Right now!"

Grif turned sharply at the young woman's voice. Kai had her determined, stubborn-as-all-fuck expression on her face. However, there was a slight tremble to her lips and a watery sheen in her brown eyes, as if she might start crying at any second. Seeing her older brother, who had endured so much in the past to help support and look after her, freaking out was no doubt absolutely terrifying to her.

That alone was enough to give Grif a slight pause. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, _anything_ …

"She's right. Panicking gets you nowhere." An all-too familiar voice spoke up from just outside the cell.

Everyone stiffened at the newcomer's presence, and Grif turned back around to see _Terrence_ …no, fucking _Sharkface_ standing in the hallway impassively. Sharkface had his helmet on, so there was no way to see his facial expression as he regarded the prisoners with body language that spoke wholly of indifference.

"Your friend did what he did to try and protect your…" Sharkface paused there, casting a glance at all of the cells and their occupants before regarding Grif once more with a key note of disgust in his voice, " _Family_. All you're doing is belittling his sacrifice."

Grif's only response was a vicious snarl that erupted from somewhere deep within his throat. He suddenly reached out with his arms, his only thought to throttle Sharkface. The other man didn't even flinch in the slightest since the shielding kept Grif at bay. Kai did, though, and Washington touched her shoulder in support before she shrugged him off with " _I don't need a cop's help._ " to which the former Freelancer maturely replied with " _I'm not a fucking cop!_ " and a sigh of frustration.

"What the fuck do you know about Simmons, asshole?" Grif spat out venomously, "Where the fuck is he? What's going on?"

Sharkface continued to just stare at his childhood friend through his helmet's visor, resulting in Grif _seriously_ wanting to wrap his hands around his fucking neck.

"Where is Junior?" Washington asked in a shaking sort-of voice that informed everyone he was only barely keeping it together himself.

Instead of answering any of their questions, Sharkface tore his gaze away from the infuriated Grif as he once more swept his eyes over the detention center. He let out a frustrated sigh, "None of this is what I had in mind for revenge." He remarked, though whether that was more to himself than any of the people there, no one could say. Sharkface turned to Grif, who was still glaring daggers his way, "I'll probably see you later." He said dully before taking his leave.

"Wait! Don't fucking go without saying where they are, jackass!" Grif shouted after him, thoroughly done with all of this shit.

Naturally, the only sound the chubby man heard in way of a response to his pained cry was the distant thrum of a door opening and closing. The fight suddenly drained from Grif's body as he heavily sagged onto his knees on the metallic ground.

Kai pulled away from Washington then, Volleyball a comforting presence suddenly at her side as she knelt down by her brother. "Dex…" Kai trailed off as her hand rested on his shoulder, her touch shaky but comforting all the same, "It's…it's going to be okay."

Grif said nothing in response, a faraway look in his dark eyes. All he could think about just then was what it was Hargrove could possibly be doing to Simmons, and just why it was that the dumbass nerd had to be so stupidly stubborn at the absolute worst of times.

* * *

Leonard Church leaned against the back wall of the transport, hugging Freckles tightly to his lap. He normally wouldn't have acted so sentimental, but he could only imagine the sad look on Caboose's face if his two " _best friends_ " weren't together to greet him. It wouldn't have been worth the hassle. So, there he was, huddled with a sentient gun on a transport as his eyes took in the many scenes going on around him.

He first settled on his sister. Carolina had joined Four Seven Niner in the cockpit, evidently quite adept at co-piloting. Seriously, what the fuck _couldn't_ his sister do? He felt oddly proud, even if he was a genetically engineered clone who by no rights should feel anything in that capacity. The two women had their heads bent close together, the smiles on their faces open for all the world to fucking see even if their whispered words of conversation were private.

Church felt his own lips curve upwards at the sight before he pulled his gaze away, not really wanting to intrude on his sister's love life.

His eyes drifted over to Doctor Grey and Doc. They were both discussing something with Andersmith and Doyle, no doubt it was about their recent injuries. Sarge hovered close to the dark-skinned woman's elbow in particular, every so often apparently putting his own medical spin into the conversation. Church was sure it was about robotic parts, because it was Sarge they were talking about here.

…The red-armored man was probably at least as helpful medically as Doc in that regard, if nothing else. Not that it would take much to be so. Robot parts or orange juice. Take your pick.

Church glanced further away to spot Tucker conversing with Kimball. The teal-armored man nodded his head emphatically as he spoke as Santa hovered just above Kimball's shoulder, the two listening intently to whatever it was that Tucker was saying.

At least his friend's sullen demeanor after he had told him about what Simmons had said in regards to Junior had suddenly channeled a more determined persona. Church could only imagine that the news, combined with them now having a clear destination in mind for this mission, had served to further fuel Tucker's drive to rescue his son, Washington (yeah, those two had long since stopped fucking fooling _anybody_ ), and the others from captivity.

"Hey."

Church's thoughts and observations were interrupted by the black-armored form of Texas standing in his field of vision. He nodded his head in response, "Hey."

Tex took that as an invitation to sit down next to him against the wall, her own dark eyes also flickering over their mismatched group of friends, "How are you feeling now?" She asked carefully, not even bothering to look in his direction when she spoke, "After the link-up?"

Church grimaced slightly at the reminder of the unpleasant interface, "It could have been a whole lot worse, I guess," he admitted to the other cyborg, "But I still feel like shit."

She nodded her head in understanding, but didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Tex understood. He knew that she had interfaced during their days back in Project Freelancer too, though how many times she had been forced to do so and for what purposes she kept close to her chest. He didn't bother asking her about it, just as she didn't pry too much into his own experiences—it was enough to know that they had similar circumstances and leave it at that.

After a few more moments of the two of them awkwardly sitting there in relative silence, Church decided _fuck it_ and tilted his head slightly so that he was resting on her shoulder. Tex remained perfectly still. But, since she didn't threaten to put him through a wall or make it so that he couldn't ever have kids the old-fashioned way, he took that as an encouraging sign that she didn't mind.

Church let out a tired sigh as he closed his eyes, just trying to be there in the moment for however long it fucking lasted this time, "I'm a little surprised at how much I fucking missed all of this."

Her demeanor did not change in the slightest to even indicate that she had heard him. For a moment, Church was convinced that the redhead would not say anything in response to his comment.

But then, as always, Tex managed to catch him completely off-guard as she shifted her position slightly so that his head was at a more comfortable angle, "I am too."

They both fell silent, eyes taking in the scenes playing out around them. With his head now resting much more comfortably on Tex's armored shoulder, Church's grip on Freckles tightened marginally. Tex looked down at the gun in his hands, knowing exactly what its presence meant but choosing to say nothing about it. He loved that about her.

"This won't be like back at Freelancer." He stated quietly yet emphatically, "We're going to get all of those assholes back safe and sound."

Next to Church, Tex hummed wholeheartedly in agreement.

* * *

When Richard "Dick" Simmons finally, _finally_ managed to crack his eyes open after what felt like a monumental effort from his resisting body fighting the urge to do so, he instantly regretted it. Far too bright light caused him to wince and tears began to well up in his still organic eye as his cybernetic one rapidly tried to adjust.

When he was actually able to well and truly see once more, he was greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar bedroom. A rather clinical-looking one at that, given the overuse of white on the walls and in the bed sheets. The unfamiliar place caused him to shiver slightly, though the redhead wasn't entirely sure why.

"Wh—where…?" Simmons began shakily when he realized that he was not the only person in the room.

Aiden Price stood at the foot of the bed. The man smiled down at Simmons in his usual manner, the expression never quite reaching his eyes. Simmons would be lying if he said that the guy didn't freak him the fuck out more often than not.

"Do not worry, Richard." Price stated with practiced calm, as if he was trying to keep someone from walking off the edge, "Everything went smoothly. Momentary disorientation is simply a side effect of the procedure."

"What procedure are we talking about here again?" Simmons asked in what was probably too light of a tone, trying to shake the cobwebs from his still all-too fuzzy and muddled brain.

He couldn't help wincing a second later. Shit. His head fucking _hurt_.

"The upgrades to your cybernetics, of course." Price informed him matter-of-factly as if the obvious discomfort that Simmons experienced just then was of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, "They were a complete success."

"Indeed." A familiar voice uttered as the door swished open behind them, both Price and Simmons turning their attention to the source. Simmons' posture went as rigid as was possible while sitting upright in the bed at the sight of the newcomer.

Malcolm Hargrove's wrinkled face twisted slightly as the faint trace of a humorless smile found its way there, "I am personally just relieved to have my son back."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** …Evil cliffhanger! XD Sorry about that, but the reveal about what ended up happening to Simmons was simply too good of a stopping point to pass up. Poor guy just cannot catch a break in this story, and there were so many feels all around in this chapter with everyone else too. We're getting closer to the ending of this fic, but there are quite a few things that need to happen still before then. So, things will be getting quite intense in future chapters!

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this story! :D


	32. Chapter 26

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Six:

The sounds of frantic sparring, armor slamming against armor, echoed loudly along the insides of the air transport. Lavernius Tucker swore that he could feel the vehicle shaking from more than just turbulence every time one of the combatants' heavy blows connected.

The transport itself had a lot of space to move about in, having been designed to carry large patrols along with some of their vehicles and heavier equipment. But, with the way that former Freelancer Agents Tex and Carolina were going at it, it seemed as if they weren't confined or restricted by the looming walls surrounding them in the slightest.

Tucker wondered briefly as to how many missions the two females had been on that had required them to develop such ease and familiarity with fighting on an actively moving air transport. He quickly decided to scratch that curiosity train though, as it was probably a bullet point on his own personal _Don't Even Fucking Want to Know What Happened in Freelancer_ List.

Who could blame him, after all? Those crazy Freelancer assholes always ended up making his torturous and rather turbulent life in warzones look like a fucking walk in the park. It was both impressive and nerve-wracking.

Sitting there thinking about Freelancers in general would have his thoughts inexplicably turn to a certain steel with yellow trim ex-agent in particular, and _that_ would have him dwelling on his son and all the others who had been taken once more in no time flat, so Tucker finally sauntered over to the two women. The teal-armored man was still not a hundred percent sure that Tex and Carolina were even _in_ a " _friendly_ " sparring match to begin with, but it was as close to one as the two of them were ever likely to get into.

Tucker stood at what he figured counted as a safe enough distance away, although he still had to raise his voice to jokingly call out to them: "Hey! Are you both trying to take us down before we even reach Rat's Nest?"

Almost at the exact same time, the two women both paused long enough from their blurry jabs and kicks to give the dark-skinned man the finger. Tex didn't even bother turning around to face him, like the supreme boss that she was. To be honest, Tucker figured that was better for him than the joint punches to the balls he had halfway been expecting.

"Believe me, if they weren't holding back that would have happened _long_ before now." Four Seven Niner, who evidently had pretty kickass hearing skills on top of her incredible show of piloting ability, decided to answer him vocally instead. The woman glanced over her shoulder from where her wheelchair was positioned by the ship's controls, smiling at her own personal joke.

The smirk in Tex's voice was apparent when she spoke up next, "I take it you _still_ remember all of those last minute air rescues we had you do?" She asked Niner, clearly amused.

"As fondly as the migraines I always felt about two seconds later." The silver-wearing pilot remarked dryly.

"And yet that didn't stop you from bragging about them at the bar later." Carolina shot back, her voice sounding oddly fond at the memory.

The smile that Four Seven Niner threw the redhead's way was downright flirtatious, "Hey, who else would have been able to have your backs then?"

Carolina smirked right back at the pilot in a manner that seemed to be equally as suggestive. Carolina's brother seemed to sense from Tucker's eyebrow waggle at the sudden " _electricity_ " in the space that the dark-skinned man was likely about to say something that would get him, probably rightfully so, pummeled to death in the next five seconds so Church intervened: "Please, Tucker, you've been around the two of them enough to know when they're serious."

"He's right, son. This little skirmish here barely even registers on the ' _Help! We're probably all gonna get killed along the way, dang-nab-it!_ ' scale." Sarge noted gruffly from where he was seated beside Church and Freckles to observe the fight.

Santa had long since vanished from view following his assisting Church earlier, like a computer that went into hibernation mode while stuck downloading porn.

"Wait," Church said as he raised an eyebrow at Sarge's comment, " _That's_ what we're calling it now?"

The older man in red nodded sagely, "Well, I like to keep my language clean in front of mixed company." He explained.

"You've always been such a thoughtful gentleman, Sarge!" Doctor Grey chimed in rather appreciatively that very moment, causing Sarge's face to turn a shade of red that nearly matched his armor.

Church made a distinctive " _whipping_ " noise under his breath at the exchange, only to let out a totally manly " _Eep!_ " a second later when a black helmet crashed violently against the wall mere centimeters from his face, "What the fuck, Tex?!"

The redhead smirked back at him, her brown eyes twinkling mischievously, "Like you're one to talk about being whipped, Church."

Tucker grinned and let out a sharp bark of laughter, "She's totally got you there, dude!"

Blue eyes narrowed angrily in Tucker's direction, and Church had to only utter one word to cause Tucker to freeze in his tracks, "Washington."

An uncomfortable silence filled the transport then, that one particular name a sharp enough reminder of what they were on their way to do that it pretty much killed the friendly banter they had all been getting into.

Church grimaced as he took in the sudden stricken look on his friend's face, his grip on Freckles tightening marginally in response, "Tucker, look, I'm sor—"

"It's cool, man." Tucker cut his friend off and quickly put on a brave face, knowing full well that Church could be a major asshole at times ( _they all could, no shame in admitting it_ ), but that he hadn't meant to dig that particular knife in any further than it already was, "Really."

Church looked ready to put his other foot in his mouth and make things even more hella awkward than they already were, though thankfully his sister seemed a bit more capable of reading the room then. "Tucker." Carolina spoke up with a pointed look his way, "Was there a particular reason you interrupted us, or…?"

"Y—yeah, there was actually." He admitted, grateful to see his goateed friend's back resting comfortably against the wall once more, "I'm just _really_ fucking sick of standing around and doing nothing at the moment." As he spoke, he raised his hands up in the form of fists as he walked in-between the two combatants, "I was sort-of hoping, since you two ladies were already sparring and everything, that you might be interested in taking me on?"

"No cheesy pickup lines?" Tex asked incredulously.

Tucker shook his head, "Nope, I'm being fucking serious here." He told her, "I want to be in the best shape possible to rescue my kid, Wash, and the others."

The two women glanced over at one another, and for a split-second Tucker was worried that maybe they still wouldn't buy it given his past tendencies to not take too things seriously. But, then they both smirked at him. Evilly. A sudden inner panic welled up inside of him at the sight, especially with Church's shit-eating grin and Doctor Grey's " _I'll get the medkit_!" song in the background.

"Sure." Carolina informed Tucker, arms crossed over her chest in her customary badass pose, "Just don't expect us to go easy on you."

Tucker grinned earnestly, holding himself at the ready, "Now that's what I want to hear!" He exclaimed, knowing full well already just how much he might come to regret those words a few moments later.

* * *

Doc let out a tiny breath of relief when he saw how things played out with Tucker and the others, "All's well that ends well, I suppose!" He said rather shakily to no one in particular.

Vanessa Kimball raised an eyebrow at the purple-armored man's comment, "You were expecting a different outcome?" She inquired curiously.

"L—Let's just say that similar instances have ended with a punch or two in the past." The medic in purple said as he smiled sheepishly in response, fiddling with his hands in the same manner that Doyle was prone to doing when he became nervous, a tick that had always caused Kimball's eyebrows to twitch slightly in annoyance whenever the older blond-haired man had done so in the past.

"Heh. Fun times." Sarge smiled whimsically, "Though now isn't exactly the time to be reminiscing about the good ol' days!"

"The…the _good_ old days?" Church sputtered indignantly, "I had to have my fucking jaw wired shut once!"

"I don't recall anyone else but you complaining at the time." The older man in red armor stated emphatically.

Church hunched in further around himself and Freckles, muttering something that sounded distinctively along the lines of " _crazy old nut job_ " under his breath.

Doctor Grey looked mildly disappointed by the turn of events herself, "Well, that would have certainly given the two of us something more to do on this flight though, wouldn't it?" She asked Doc, although she was already getting medical supplies ready all the same.

Doc's smile was somehow even _more_ sheepish now, "Yes, but rooting for that seems a bit…"

Kimball tuned out of the discussion that the two medical experts were having, noting that Doyle was, in fact, fiddling nervously with his fingers at that very moment as he watched the ongoing sparring session currently taking place.

Andersmith was sitting by Doyle, though from the tilt of his head and the heavy breathing she could make out with every rise and fall of his chest, she suspected that the rookie's still recuperating body had succumbed to Doctor Grey's last insistent request that he let himself rest before the mission officially started upon their arrival at the notorious Rat's Nest.

Not wanting to wake the dozing, blue-trimmed lieutenant, she quietly moved over to Doyle's other side even though the caution was probably unnecessary if the dark-haired male was able to sleep through the excessive clatter of the training session currently underway.

Doyle's eyes barely flickered over to the former supply runner before fixing back on the match, clearly in awe over Tucker's apparent ability to at least remain somewhat standing in the face of Carolina and Tex's combined onslaught. She noted that his hand went subconsciously to where the alien sword hilt at his side would have been, though it remained hesitantly hovering there once he seemed to realize that the sword in question was no longer present all the same. She cleared her throat to gain his attention.

"Ah, Miss Kimball!" Doyle began, "W—what are you…?"

The dark-skinned woman inclined her head towards the sparring match, "What about it? Want to take up sparring to pass the time?" she asked him.

His mouth hung open like a gaping fish at the question, eyes darting from her face to the practice session and back again in quick succession.

The genetically engineered woman held up a hand to stop the weak protest she was sure would follow once Doyle was able to vocalize properly again, "Don't worry, I'm not cruel enough to throw you _that_ far into the deep end just yet." She reassured him with a slight smile, "I meant that _we_ could have a sparring session. Together."

"Us?" Doyle blinked in open disbelief.

Kimball nodded, taking the opportunity to stretch, "It has been longer than I'd care to admit since I last practiced hand-to-hand combat." She said self-deprecatingly, "So I'd like to make sure my skills haven't gotten too rusty."

Doyle frowned, glancing down at his own hands in his lap, "I'm sure they are still worlds better than my own." He murmured, "To say I need a bit of polish would be an understatement."

The joint leader of Chorus smiled encouragingly, extending her hand towards Doyle, "All the more reason for us both to get some practice in, wouldn't you say?" Kimball smirked, "Maybe Tex even has some swords on hand for when you get your alien relic back."

Church scoffed at Kimball's comment, "Dude, you'll have to narrow it down by type and weight first."

Sarge nodded in agreement, "Tex's armament _is_ mighty impressive. Reminds me a bit of my shotgun collection back home."

The cobalt-armored man sighed, "Just try not to cry when you see it this time, okay, old man?"

Sarge harrumphed, an indignant sniff already escaping from his nose, "You and I both know I can't make that promise."

As Church let out another long-suffering sigh, Doyle looked up at Kimball in a rather shy manner, "If you don't think I would slow you down any…" he trailed off, grabbing onto her hand as he did so.

Kimball smiled even more, "Never." She assured him as she helped the white with gold-wearing man to his feet.

From nearby, Doctor Grey squealed in obvious excitement just as Tucker was kicked into the wall of the transport and barely managed to dodge a follow-up punch from Carolina, "Oh, it looks like we might have some work to do before we get to Rat's Nest after all!" She stated, the anticipatory gleam in her brown eyes impossible to miss.

Next to her, Doc gave a half-hearted, "Yay?" in reply as Four Seven Niner shook her head from the pilot's spot, amusement clearly written all over her tanned features.

"This has got to be one of the most interesting flights I've flown in a _long_ time." The pilot mused mostly to herself.

* * *

"Hey, cop guy."

David Washington rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance at the rather absurd nickname before glancing up at Kaikaina Grif hovering above him. "What is it, Kai?" He asked her in a weary tone.

Truthfully, the former Freelancer had felt a distinct lack of energy ever since Junior and Simmons had been taken away. He was trying hard not to let it show in order to help boost morale, but even he was aware of how much of a losing battle it was becoming.

Charon taking Junior away was definitely not a good sign, especially since anyone could tell just by looking at him that the boy was a special case even as far as genetically engineered people went. If something were to happen to him, how would Washington _ever_ be able to even look Tucker in the face again, let alone himself?

"I'm worried about the little guy too, and the gray nerd." Kai's voice was unusually soft when she spoke, her foot kicking the ground as she did so, "We all are."

Washington glanced around the cell, noting that Caboose was talking softly to Volleyball and Palomo over in the other corner while Bitters was off to the side with an angry scowl across his features. The nervous energy all around them was fairly apparent, and he had no doubt that he would have seen much the same if he peered into the cell that was occupied by Donut, Jensen, and Matthews just then. Even Sheila and Lopez had become uncharacteristically quiet in their adjoining accommodations.

Washington frowned at the realization, knowing full well that he didn't have the time or the luxury to dwell on worry right then if he wanted to help Junior, help _all_ of them. If he wanted to be able to see Tucker again, he needed to come up with some sort of escape plan.

"Not to mention that Dex is…" Kai's continued talking dragged the blond out of self-deprecating thoughts as he saw the young woman glance nervously in her big brother's direction, "He isn't doing too hot."

Grif was kneeling on the floor in the same position he had been in since Sharkface had left, a sheen of sweat covering his ashen face. The heavyset man was breathing heavily, his dark eyes downcast as he seemed to have withdrawn into himself.

"His situation changed recently. Don't think he had the time to tell you assholes yet." The younger Grif stated quietly, "But with those even bigger dicks taking Simmons on top of everything else, I think…"

"It's pushed his body's natural inclinations over the edge." Washington surmised glumly once she trailed off.

Kai's anxious frown only deepened, and she nodded. "He really fucking _needs_ the nerd back." She told him in a voice that broached no room for debate.

Not that Washington really needed one. He had witnessed firsthand just how close the two men had become to one another over the years, and he also knew more about the various traits of genetically engineered people than most due to his time in Freelancer. He could put two and two together on just how Grif's situation had evolved.

It was yet another massive roadblock they had to deal with in a situation that already had _far_ too many of them for his liking.

"We'll figure something out, Kai." Washington tried reassuring her.

"Of course we fucking will!" The yellow-armored girl gave Washington a lopsided grin in return, and he was grateful that he could still at least offer some form of encouragement in this situation despite his own worries and growing unease.

The former Freelancer returned her smile weakly before he sighed and closed his gray eyes, letting himself briefly wonder how Tucker was doing. The last time he had seen the teal-armored man, he'd been…

"Oh, don't you worry about that, Wash!" Donut stated with his usual bravado, "Tucker's doing just fine! Doc was with him, and he's an expert at plugging in all sorts of holes!"

"He would totally know that too." Kai tried adding in just as helpfully.

Washington blinked, completely unaware that he had even said anything about Tucker out loud. He felt his face heating up at the realization, though he tried ignoring it to smile in gratitude at Kai and Donut's attempts to reassure him, even if he wasn't _as_ confident in Doc's medical skills as Donut always seemed to be.

"Thanks, guys." Washington muttered rather shakily all the same.

He definitely felt it was best to double down on his own strategies for making sure they would be able to see Tucker and everyone else again soon. Washington frowned in contemplation, figuring that the best time to even remotely attempt any escape could be when they were transported to Rat's Nest proper.

"Look alive, everyone!" Felix's mocking voice could be heard as he and Locus stepped into view, "We're just about ready to land."

Washington stiffened at this bit of news, "Then we're at Rat's Nest?" He couldn't help but ask the men.

The shorter of the two mercenaries smirked at his query, "Wow, nothing ever gets by you, does it?" Felix remarked sarcastically as new Charon personnel arrived in the security center with what appeared to be trays of medical equipment in tow.

"What the fuck is that for?" Bitters all but snarled out at the sight.

"Temper, temper." Felix said as he waved the device that could activate their bomb collars just then as a reminder of their situation, causing Matthews in particular to go extremely pale due to what had occurred previously. Bitters shut up immediately at the sight of the reaction from the yellow-trimmed lieutenant, though his glare could still melt steel. Felix smirked, pleased by the change in behavior, "We just need a few samples for own records before the sale gets underway, is all." He stated rather breezily.

"I do not like needles." Caboose muttered, and Washington ignored the remark that Donut made about all of the _other_ different ways he preferred getting poked and prodded instead, his gray eyes narrowing in thought. Samples could only mean…

"Hargrove is going to start his own genetic engineering program, isn't he?" Washington questioned, "Even with the current ban."

"Oh, don't act so shocked. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out a way it could still be lucrative. Besides, it's hardly like we're really delving into what's lawful or ethical now given our track record, are we?" The brown-haired mercenary shrugged indifferently, "The way I see it, it will just mean less money that we'll have to share with fellow soldiers later on if the program really kicks into high gear."

Washington took a step forward threateningly, "You son of a…!"

"This is getting us nowhere." Locus spoke up suddenly, stepping forward himself as if to block Felix from Washington despite the shielding still being in place, "The matter is not up for discussion. Cooperate and nothing unforeseen has to happen."

Washington glared at the impassive mercenary towering in front of him, but he made no move to resist as the energy that served as their cell's door dissipated. Playing along was their best bet at the moment, even if the thought made him feel even sicker to his stomach.

* * *

The room where the child and infant were currently being kept contained a one-way mirror. Richard "Dick" Simmons was glad for that, at least, because he wasn't sure how he would react if the children became aware of the adults peering in on them. He wasn't exactly the greatest when it came to interacting with others, let alone children, on his best days, and the current situation that he found himself in certainly didn't count.

"Are you certain even having them here is necessary?" Simmons finally asked the person standing beside him, hating how unsure his voice sounded.

Aiden Price casually examined the data pad he was holding just then, "The situation is far from ideal, Richard." He said at length when he finally addressed the younger man, "Procurement of the samples was rather hastily done, I'm afraid."

Simmons frowned at Price's choice of words, as though the two youngsters were mere objects and not actual human beings. He supposed it was easier for some to view genetically engineered individuals as such, especially given what they had often been designed for during the war, but…

"They are both being better taken care of here than they would be at any other facility, I assure you." Price continued, "After all, you're seeing to that now, are you not?"

Simmons' frown deepened, but he was unable to deny the truth in the man's words. After having found out that his father had intended to expand his enterprise into genetic engineering and had even gone to the effort of finding two children who had been left to deal with the aftermath of that particular aspect of the war falling apart, Simmons had volunteered to be their caretaker.

The boy with the glowing teal lines he knew very little about personally, though the redhead knew that the currently unnamed infant girl had been created as a last ditch effort for " _spare parts_ " for a supply runner batch that had ended up being wiped out in a black market coup attempt awhile back. The ability and tech to create batches was growing scarcer by the day, so Charon was collecting as much of it as they could to hopefully eventually replicate the process again on a sustainable level.

To say Simmons had been comfortable with Hargrove's idea on that front was an outright lie. Then again, it wasn't as if he really approved of much of his father's business decisions, though he could at least understand his desire to be prepared for the " _inevitable fallout_ " that this tentative peace was sure to bring about.

Besides, it wasn't as if he was in a position to oppose his father's plans. He owed him far too much, after all, considering how he had taken Simmons in after his birth parents had been killed and had even saved his life with experimental cybernetics.

Not to mention, while the procurement of his funds was largely unethical, Hargrove _was_ actually supplying territories and regions with the means to defend themselves, even helping to build schools and medical centers for citizenry who wouldn't have access to them otherwise.

Simmons supposed that his own doubts about how his father conducted business really did just boil down to his " _still being woefully naïve about how the world truly worked_ ," as Hargrove was always quick to mention.

The maroon-wearing man's frown only grew at that thought. That was a large reason as to why he had wanted to come along on this assignment even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to see just what the world was actually like in all its ugly glory, to prove to both himself and his father that he could make Hargrove proud.

Maybe, just maybe, his overseeing the handling of the genetically engineered research currently at least could mean that he could shield _some_ of his father's " _guests_ " from a crueler fate. It wasn't much, but it was the most he could do in his limited capacity right now.

The two nurses who were watching over the children currently at least seemed to know to be gentle and to attempt to be comforting, though the older dark-skinned boy still had a rather large pout on his face even as he half-heartedly engaged in play. Not that Simmons could really blame him for that, given the circumstances. He could only imagine how things could have played out if the more militant members of Charon's staff had been assigned to watch over them instead.

Simmons shuddered slightly at the thought, a heavy ache in his insides as he knew all of this was just about as far from ideal as things could get. He gripped onto his cybernetic arm tightly, trying to mask the grimace forming on his face. To make matters worse, he had even gotten injured and undergone surgery before the matter at Rat's Nest had even been finished.

He was wholly pathetic on all fronts. Maybe his father had been right, and now hadn't been the time for him to try and prove his worth…

"Are you sure you should even be up and about yet, Richard?" Price questioned as if reading his mind, "I assure you, everyone under Charon's employ is more than capable of handling matters here."

Simmons did not look over at Price, not wanting to see the barely concealed _pity_ that was no doubt hiding behind his carefully placed mask of understanding and concern.

None of them thought he had the stomach for any of this. Fuck it, even he sometimes felt the same. But…

He bit down on his lower lip, choosing to ignore the Counselor's remark instead. "We're almost close to Rat's Nest, right?" Simmons surmised, finally turning away from the view of the playroom, "Don't we…um, have to collect the samples before…?"

He trailed off then, unable to finish the sentence on what was going to happen to the older " _guests_ " his father had taken onboard. His dad was probably right: he _really_ didn't have the stomach for this sort of thing.

Price didn't seem to miss a beat, tapping on the screen of his data pad, "That is already well underway."

"W—what?" Simmons' mouth was hanging open at that. Wasn't _he_ supposed to be the one who initiated it?

"The Chairman thought it might be best to start without your involvement since you have only just recently recovered and he knows of your distaste for that part of the operation."

The dark-skinned man's eerily calm words did nothing to keep Simmons from bolting from the viewing room then, the cybernetic equivalent he had to a heart pounding loudly in his ears. How was he _ever_ going to get the chance to prove himself if everyone kept going over him for things like this?

That thought lodged itself rather firmly in his brain as his surrounding scenery became nothing but a twisting blur as he made his way to the detention cells of the transport.

Felix looked up from where he was kneeling in a gloating position over a crouched form that one of the other soldiers had evidently just taken blood from, "Well, look who actually decided to show up!"

For once, the adrenaline pumping through Simmons' veins had him not trembling in outright fear of the steel and orange-armored mercenary as he quickly took in the scene before him.

The collared people in the cells that had been captured during their raid on Chorus? All of them were gaping at him in ways that seemed highly unusual for having just met face-to-face. He frowned, unsure of how to react to the unexpected attention.

"...De ninguna manera." _{"…No fucking way."}_

The brown-armored robot was the first to speak, and the redhead whipped his head around to stare at him incredulously, having no clue as to what he had said.

"Cap—Captain Simmons…!" A tan-skinned girl with a spattering of freckles on her face breathed out next, "What…?"

And that was effectively when all hell broke loose.

The tan-skinned figure who had been crouched on the ground just then that they must have been getting samples from before whipped his head up suddenly at the mention of Simmons' name. He was a heavyset man dressed in orange, and something about him caused Simmons' insides to further twist and lurch painfully for some inexplicable reason that he couldn't remotely begin to place.

The cyborg wasn't able to process why his body was reacting or even how these people knew his name because, with more strength and energy than he had appeared to possess before, the orange-wearing man had shot up to his feet and even pushed past Felix to grab Simmons' flesh and blood hand in a rather clammy, nearly bone-breaking grip.

" _Simmons!_ " The stranger breathed out in what could only be described as happy disbelief, and though he was wobbling unsteadily on his feet he pulled the lanky redhead into a tight, suffocating embrace against his chest, "You're okay!"

Simmons stood there, frozen and unsure of what to do as the two mercenaries and the other Charon guards surrounded them. There was something warm and familiar about the unexpected closeness he was currently embraced in, but it somehow _hurt_ all the same too.

That was probably because there was no way this was actually a gesture meant to be given to him in the first place, right? No one fucking touched Simmons that way.

Suddenly, Felix and Locus were pulling the man off and shoving him rather violently to the ground once more as Simmons watched, his mind still trying to process what had happened and just why his face started to feel inexplicably hot.

"Simmons?" The unknown man's voice was no longer ecstatic, but full of anxiety and pain.

Simmons wasn't sure why, but he absolutely hated how the man sounded just then.

"I…I'm sorry." He heard himself saying as if from some distance away. Simmons couldn't bring himself to look the stranger in the eyes just then, and a much larger part of him than he cared to admit hated how suddenly _cold_ he felt now compared to only a few seconds ago, "I don't…I don't know how you know my name, but I think you have me confused with someone else."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Gah, writing memory modified!Simmons' POV was quite tricky, and there are just so many things I have planned to happen between him and Grif following the ending to this chapter! :D Also, everyone finally gets to Rat's Nest too which means the rescue attempt can well and truly start getting underway! Huzzah! It only took me forever to reach that point! XD

Also, since I'm getting pretty close to the end for this story/AU, I'm approaching the updating schedule for it as follows:

Next Update: _Prelude for Losers?_ : Four Seven Niner (and Carolina) Prequel

Following Update: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Third Update: _Prelude for Losers?:_ Doyle and Kimball Prequel

Fourth Update: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fifth Update: _Prelude for Losers?_ : The Lieutenants Prequel

Sixth Update: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Seventh Update: Currently Untitled "In the Shade" Prequel

Eighth Update: Chapter Thirty

Ninth Update: Currently Untitled "Cyborg Surgery" Prequel

Tenth Update: Chapter Thirty-One

Eleventh Update: Epilogue

…And then we are officially done with this story-verse! XD Hopefully, if I can keep up with this schedule, I won't have any prequels awkwardly showing up once the main plot is over and done with. I'm still kind of in shock that I'm so close to being done with one of my WIPs, though I have a sneaky feeling some other story idea might pop up to torment me even before that happens because I am rather crazy like that! XD

I hope that you enjoyed reading this rambling chapter at least, and that the future updates will be entertaining too! Thank you very much for reading! :D


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